Songs of the Lyrebird
by XxxChansalarxxX
Summary: Mia Mimidae is determined to find her sister, Delilah, even if it means traversing Gotham's dark underbelly. The popular new club, Oswald's, may hold the key to finally solving the mystery. Will Oswald Cobblepot help Mia find the truth or ruin her plans? Are her skills enough to manipulate him or will she succumb to his criminal brilliance? New villains and original characters.
1. Chapter 1: The Museum of Antiquities

Chapter One: The Museum of Antiquities

The needle punctured the jet black fabric. With a fluid motion and nimble hands, the tailor pulled the dark thread taut at the suit's cuff. His turquoise eyes surveyed the stitching, before diligently repeating the process. Rays of aurelian sunlight trickled through the tiny shop's storefront windows and pooled on the floor beneath his feet. The sweet, nutty fragrance of brewed coffee permeated the air. An unexpected shift tampered with his concentration.

"Mia, please be still." The squat, silver-haired man chided gently. The young woman sighed impatiently, arms uncomfortably outstretched. For nearly an hour, Mia struggled to keep motionless, but now her muscles resisted against the exercise. "And keep straight! Do you want uneven sleeves?"

"I'm going to be late, Pops." Mia directed her gaze toward the ceiling and listened to the rhythm of the grandfather clock. _Nothing can go wrong. Not today._ An amused chuckle nearby caused Mia to smirk. "Am I missing something funny?"

"I've just never seen you in a pants suit before." A woman's voice replied humorously, her thick Irish accent underscoring the bemused words.

The old tailor smiled, pulled a pair of scissors from his pocket, and snipped the final strand."Next time, try not wait until last minute to prepare. Now, turn around and let us see."

His daughter obeyed and casually spun around. The tapered suit fit her every curve flawlessly; a handcrafted masterpiece with two pockets and full Bemberg lining.

"What do you think, Erin?" Mia asked turning to the woman observing from the sofa.

Her friend stood up and inspected the outfit's finer details. Wisps of cinnamon colored bangs masked Erin's calculating green eyes. "It's perfect. I can't say the same about your hair though."

"My hair is _fine_. Now can we go? I can't be late. Punctuality is everything." Instinctively, Mia's hands flattened any rebellious strands that threatened the pristine condition of her copper hair.

"I can navigate these streets better than any taxi driver. I'll get you there on time." Earnestly, Erin reached out to straighten Mia's crisp lapels. She examined the ensemble's white trim. _Stop stalling. I'm not going to change my mind._

"Somehow, that doesn't ease my anxiety." Mia wrinkled her nose and grabbed her leather bag from behind the register. "We have to leave now, alright?" Her father flipped a sign on the front door from closed to open. As Mia approached the exit, the humble tailor opened the door for her. The brass bell hanging from the entrance chimed. Swiftly, Mia pecked her father on the cheek and hurried to the street.

"Good luck with the interview!" He called after her.

Erin quickly poured a cup of coffee into a travel mug. "For the record, Avidan, the suit looks great. I am sure she will impress _someone_ today." As she moved toward the exit, Avidan breathed a heavy laugh and pointed his index finger toward the sky.

* * *

"Be careful, Erin. If you don't hurry, she may just take your car and leave without you!"

"You shouldn't have taken twelfth street." Mia groaned. The blazing red stoplight burned her retinas the longer she stared. "There are so many traffic lights on twelfth."

Gotham's drab streets bustled with the typical morning flow of pedestrians and vehicles. The sun peeked curiously from behind the towering buildings, yet the city remained remarkably dark. Groups of strangers strolled passed the car, their faces plastered with angry, frustrated looks. Two food vendors bickered at the corner. Whose turn was it to occupy the prime spot today? A siren wailed in the distance. _At this rate it would be easier to walk._ The light flickered to green and the BMW rolled back into motion.

Erin's faraway voice tickled Mia's ear. "Have you been listening to me?"

Mia nodded quietly, but remained silent. _I know you think this is a bad idea._

"This plan is crazy."

"It's the only way." Mia stared at her reflection in the car window.

"As your therapist-"

"Former therapist." Mia corrected.

"As your _friend_ , I am telling you that this is insane. And I know insanity. I work at Arkham for Christ's sake." Erin gripped the steering wheel, staring ahead was easier than looking directly at her passenger.

Another red light brought the conversation to an awkward pause. _I can handle it._ _To accomplish great things, we must not only act, but also dream; not only plan, but also believe. Isn't that what they say?_

"What if he doesn't show up?" Erin asked incredulously.

"He will." Mia muttered.

A green light flickered into life. Erin's foot gingerly pressed the gas pedal, enough to speed passed the public transit. The car rolled over a deep pothole, jostling the vehicle's cargo. "You sound awfully sure."

"He always stops by the museum on Wednesday around ten. He must have a contact there."

"If he is there so often, won't he know you aren't an employee? What if he sees through your act?" Erin chewed on her tongue thoughtfully. She reached for her cup of coffee, lifted it to her mouth, and took a sip.

"Then I suppose I will have to reassess my situation, won't I?" Mia tapped the armrest. _It_ _doesn't help when you try to make me anxious like that._

"I am just trying to help you see that there are things that can go wrong. These people can be unreliable... dangerous even. You of all people should know that." Erin rested the traveler's mug in her lap. The Museum of Antiquities loomed ever closer. The building's white marbled columns towered over the oblivious passersby. Erin boldly pulled into the fire lane. Mia moved to open the door, but Erin grabbed her shoulder. "You could just skip this part and apply for a job the normal way. Or, better yet, let go of the things you can't control and move on with your life."

"The club isn't taking on any more staff. I need an in. It's all about networking, right?"

The disapproving frown on her face was evident, but Erin remained silent.

"I'll be fine." Mia opened the car door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. "I'll give you a ring later, alright?" Before Erin could reply, a harsh thud brought their conversation to a sudden end. Without looking back, Mia rushed up the whitewashed steps toward the grand entrance.

The atrium of the museum was brightly lit with vibrant posters illustrating the newest temporary exhibits.

 _CREATED FROM A DREAM:_

 _SURREALISM_

 _THIS MONTH ONLY_

 _EXPERIENCE THE SECRET LIFE OF SALVADOR DALI_

 _A new exhibit. Perfect bait._ Mia approached the ticket counter and paid the standard twenty dollars for admission. The haggard old woman barely looked at her as she ripped the ticket in half and returned the stub. Anxiety melded into excitement. Mia's heels clicked musically against the polished stone floor. She pulled a name tag from the pocket of her jacket and inconspicuously fastened it to her lapel. Priceless artifacts decorated the walls and packed velvet lined display cases. Ancient golden relics from Egypt glittered under the artificial light. _Maybe, after all this is over, I will settle down and actually apply for a job here. I might enjoy it._

Discreetly, Mia settled down on a bench situated in a dim corner. Before she stealthily tucked her purse between the furniture and a display case, Mia retrieved a golden pen from her bag. She slipped the writing instrument into her pocket. With the entrance in sight, all Mia had to do was wait. Not many guests visited the museum so early on a weekday. A few octogenarians, withered by time, shuffled through the halls. Mia stared at the massive, silver plated clock hovering above the atrium. Half past nine. From the corner of her eye, Mia detected her mark. A thin, pale faced man with dark hair limped up to the ticket counter, pretended to pay for admission, and wandered into the exhibits.

 _He's early today. No matter. I don't want to let him get too far away._ The man strolled through the museum, using a black umbrella to guide his stride. With curiosity, he gazed at a display of masks from ancient China. A cleverly worded plaque brought a twisted smile to his face. She followed his course through the expositions, but at a safe distance. The man disappeared into the temporary exhibit wing, where he paused to admire a painting. _Perfect. I know this one._

"The Persistence of Memory." Mia explained confidently, walking up beside him.

"Excuse me?" Startled, the man looked at her. His bright blue eyes scanned her face for sincerity.

"The painting. It's called The Persistence of Memory. It's one of Salvador Dali's best known works. The museum has it on loan from New York."

"It is a spectacular piece." He commented quietly.

"The creature in the center is supposedly a self portrait of himself." Mia continued, internally hoping her general artistic knowledge intrigued him. "It represents the fading nature of dreams. A dreamer can't understand or pinpoint their exact form, place of time, or composition. So, essentially, everything is nothing and nothing is something."

"Do you work here? You seem to know an awful lot." _Careful, Mia._

"It would seem that way." Mia smiled politely and gestured to her attire. "But I definitely don't know a lot. If only they knew how much I didn't know, they'd probably throw me out on the street."

The man chuckled. "I am sure you know more than you let on. Here, I'll test you." _Fuck_. _Fuck. Fuck._ "Tell me about this exhibit."

Positioned on a short marbled column rested a white lobster on an old fashioned telephone. Completely confused by the display, Mia stammered.

"Well, it's a lobster on a t-telephone, which was crafted by... Dali to represent... the harsh sounds of modern c-communication?" _Well you gave it the old college try._

The man's smile broadened. He leaned over the plaque and read aloud, "The Aphrodisiac Telephone. The lobster appears in many of Dali's drawings and designs, usually associated with… erotic pleasure and pain." His face blushed unexpectedly red, he tried to continue. "The crustacean's tail, where its s-sexual parts are located, is placed... directly over the mouthpiece." Before he could completely finish reading the material, he shook his head and turned his back to the surrealistic portrayal. "Well, it doesn't matter."

"Right. See? I don't think I am cut out for museum work."

"I can tell you are new, so no worries. Your lack of knowledge on… _this…_ does not wholly define you. From what I can tell, you are a wonderfully cultured individual and that is a breath of fresh air." With a startling realization, the man turned toward her. "Oh how terribly rude of me! I have failed to properly introduced myself. I am Oswald Cobblepot." He extended his hand, which Mia shook firmly.

"It's very nice to meet you Mr. Cobblepot. I'm Mia Mimidae."

" _Mimidae_. That sounds familiar. Have we met before?" Oswald cocked his head to the side.

"I don't recall." Mia lied. She had recognized him instantly the first time she saw him walking into that nightclub downtown. If he remembered for himself, she could use it to her advantage. If he forgot her, it made no difference. He did, however, remember a younger Mia Mimidae.

"We went to the same high school and took the same route home. I think we even walked together a few times." Oswald pursed his lips and suddenly seemed distracted.

"Right! I remember now." Mia feigned immediate recognition. "It's been so long. I hardly recognized you."

"Growing up. You know how it is."Oswald shrugged. "People change, they grow."

Mia nodded in agreement. "I hardly ever see anyone from back then."

Unexpectedly, Oswald looked at his watch and assumed a haughtier demeanor. "I hate to have to leave after such a long time, but I have a meeting upstairs and I would hate to be late."

"Of course." Mia nodded. "Enjoy the rest of your afternoon." Without another word, Oswald walked away; the formidable echo of his umbrella tapping the floor faded into the depths of the museum. _I hope I didn't just blow it._

* * *

 _Why are you walking like that? Christ, you are so fucking weird._ _Did your mommy fuck something at the zoo for you to turn out like that? Why don't you ever dress like a normal kid?_ The taunts blurred in a single mass of animosity. Oswald felt his blood boil with the heat of resentment. Those vulgar, dim-witted cretins were so quick to underestimate him. But who were they? Scraping by with their meager lives, content only to breath and take up space. _C'mon waddler! Get up and show us how you dance._

 _Themis, leave him alone._

Oswald banged on the mahogany carved door, provoked by the jeering voices resounding in his mind.

"Who does she think she is? I can defend myself." Oswald mumbled under his breath. The door creaked open, revealing a thin sheepish woman with horn-rimmed glasses. "I'm here to discuss business with Dr. Howard Carter."

"Of course, Mr. Cobblepot. Right this way." The secretary led Oswald beyond the door and through a private gallery of sarcophagi. _Don't touch him, Mia. That smell is sure to stick to you._

"Dr. Howard is expecting you in his office." Without a second glance, Oswald walked into the adjacent room. Sitting pensively at his desk, the young Dr. Carter looked up from the rare text he was examining.

The curator's silver glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose as a smiled skirted across his face. "Mr. Cobblepot! A pleasure as always." Oswald remained tensely quiet. How could he do business with his mind so distracted? Dr. Carter observed his guest's agitated disposition, but elected not to comment on it. "Had you any luck procuring the artifact?"

"It was easier than expected. The black market is rife with precious treasures."

Oswald approached a bookshelf, trailed his index finger along the books' spines, and squinted at the titles. He retracted his finger upon touching an anthropodermic binding of _De Humani Corporis Fabrica._

"Splendid! When can I expect to-"

"I am raising my rates." Oswald stated flatly.

"Whatever for?" Although Dr. Carter controlled the tone of his voice, violent thoughts dilated his pupils. _Stop being cruel, Themis. He doesn't deserve this sort of treatment from you._

"I have grown _bored_. Your requests are becoming more and more of a chore." A air of amusement coated Oswald's explanation. After all, he could be cruel too. Dr. Carter, his business and fancies, meant nothing to him.

"Bored? You are raising your rates, because you are bored?"

Oswald pointed his umbrella to the ceiling and turned toward the curator. "Did I stutter? I find this whole business dreadfully droll. If you expect to keep me as your supplier, I demand a twenty percent increase."

"Twenty percent! Are you mad?!"

"You are right. Twenty-five is much more appropriate." Oswald corrected.

Dr. Carter rose from his chair and slammed his fists on the table. "Get out! You pathetic, greedy little freak! Did you hear me? Get out!" The curator seized a sharpened letter-opener from his drawer and threw it at his contemptuous visitor. The projectile narrowly missed Oswald, striking instead a priceless vase which shattered to pieces. Oswald suppressed a laugh and moved toward the exit.

"Thank you for your time, Dr. Carter. If you ever decide that you need my services again, you have my contact."

Turning his back to his former client, Oswald heard the curator smash some other valuable object in a rage. The secretary obliviously typed away at her keyboard, allowing Oswald to leave undisturbed. The interaction spurred him into a delight. Power was an intoxicatingly, marvelous feeling!

 _Are you okay?_ Mia's voice rattled restlessly in his skull. _I'll walk you home._ The fleeting gratification Oswald felt dissolved into annoyance. Mia aggravated him. Not for her compassion, but because she served as a reminder of his past weakness. The girl provoked memories. Reminiscence of vulnerability. Weakness was not what he would be remembered for. But was that fair? To hold her accountable for his own insecurities? Oswald rolled his shoulders and pushed the harrowing thoughts to the side. There were more pressing matters to consider.

* * *

 _Don't miss the opportunity._ Mia twirled the gilded pen between her fingers, allowing it to roll smoothly from digit to digit. The embossed script shimmered in the museum's artificial light: _Oswald's_. The final key. It had taken only a moment to acquire. When Oswald pulled it from his breast pocket last week to sign a paper at the ticket counter, he neglectfully forgot to reclaim it on his way out. Mia did not hesitate to take it. The pen etched the plan in her mind from the moment she touched it. Oswald emerged from the dark halls and neared the atrium of the museum. _This is your chance. Don't waste it._ Mia moved forward, eyes averted to the floor, pen concealed in her palm. _Make it believable._ Picking up her pace, Mia crashed into him head first and dropped the pen. The two bodies tumbled to the floor in a tangled mess. Shocked, Oswald cursed.

Mia scrambled to her feet. "I am so sorry, Mr. Cobblepot. This is all my fault."

Tempted by urge to acknowledge her error, Oswald bit his tongue. Mia extended her hand to help him up. _Oh he looks mad. Maybe Erin was right._ When he took her hand, his blatant irritation faded away. Mia picked up his umbrella and the pen.

"No worries. Accidents happen." Oswald forced a smile. As Mia returned the umbrella to its master, she examined the pen one last time.

"You seem to have dropped this as well. I am so very sorry." Oswald stared at the fountain pen. Had he forgotten it in his jacket all this time? Odd. He plucked the pen from her hand.

"Thanks." Oswald furrowed his brow in thought.

"Do you label all your pens or is that one special?" Mia asked timidly. Her heartbeat quickened. _Take the bait. Please. Take the bait._

"This was actually a gift to myself when I opened the nightclub downtown. It seemed professional." Oswald explained.

"Oh! You- I mean you are the owner of Oswald's?"

He looked at her as if the question answered itself.

"Right, I just mean. I didn't put two and two together." She lied casually. _Stroke his ego a bit._ "You really turned out to be successful then. That must feel great."

Oswald puffed up, flattered by the praise. "There is no substitute for hard work."

 _Now. Do it now._ "I agree. I thought about pursuing my own passions recently. Perhaps, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, you could help me get an audition at your club-"

"We actually aren't hiring at the moment." Oswald interjected. Mia did not seem like stage material. Yet, a small part of him was entertained by her curious request. Unbenounced to Oswald, Mia was not going to take no for an answer.

"Please, Mr. Cobblepot. Just five minutes of your time. This museum just isn't the place for me."

Oswald snorted. "No offense, but are you sure you are cut out to be on stage?"

Mia knew that she was overplaying the submissive, incompetent card, but it was all part of the hustle. She had to make the man think he was in control. He had to discover her talents and make the choices. If her acting worked, though, the job would be hers.

"I am willing to try anything if it means getting out of this place."

"Alright, alright." Oswald sized her up before continuing. "Drop by the nightclub tomorrow around three. I'll grant you an audition."

"Thank you, Mr. Cobblepot. You won't regret it."

With a final nod, Oswald proceeded to the museum's exit and disappeared from her view. Mia found it difficult to contain her enthusiasm. _One step closer, Delilah._ Mia collected her purse and lingered nearly an hour before leaving the museum. She did not want to risk Oswald seeing her leave her supposed place of employment so early. Filling her lungs with Gotham's musty air, Mia stepped out to the street and dialed Erin's number.

"You have reached Erin Collins. Please leave a message after the tone." The low, automated noise signaled Mia's turn to speak.

"Hey Erin. I got an audition. I told you everything would work out. I am going to drop by Themis's studio to tell him the good news. Give me a call later and I will tell you all the details."

* * *

"Jervis. Give me the hat." Erin demanded firmly. The tone of her voice wavered between anger and frustration. The patients were always difficult; a fact she accepted many months ago, when she applied for a position at Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. On most days, her nerves could handle the pressure. Today, however, Erin's patience was fragile. Much of her energy went towards gently coaxing her friend away from the morning's dangerous activities. _When will Mia learn to let go?_

"You say _hat_ funny. Jervezzz. Give meh tha hawt! Hawt! Hawt!" A patient with a shock of kinky, orange hair clutched a disheveled chef's hat to his chest. The grin on his face stretched from ear to ear.

"Yes. I have an accent-"

"Would you like some wine?" Jervis asked.

"Cookie needs his hat back, so he can get started on the biscuits for today's snack, Mr. Tetch." Erin struggled to reason with him.

"We haven't any and you're too young!" Jervis cackled and put his left hand in his pants.

"Enough! If you do not return the hat this instant, I will cancel tea time."

Jervis's brown eyes narrowed at the therapist. "It's always tea time."

"Not. Today." Erin held out her hand.

Annoyed, Jervis threw the crumpled hat on the ground and stomped away muttering profanities under his breath. A shudder of anger rattled Erin's body. She closed her eyes, mentally counting to ten. _You are doing good. Remember your promise._ Erin stooped, swiped the hat from the floor, and continued silently down the ward. The hallway resounded with nonsensical shouts and the jeers of lunatics. The scent of urine saturated the air like a heavy musk. Erin was cautious. She made a point never to touch anything, having learned quickly that the patients enjoyed leaving their body fluids on all types of surfaces.

The kitchen door squeaked as Erin pushed it open with her foot. A dim light flickered above, threatening to send the windowless room into darkness. _When is management going to get this place together?_ A tiny, bright-eyed man hobbled excitedly over to the doctor. The left side of his wrinkled face, withered by time, sagged heavily. He extended his palms and clapped. The mute was sweet enough to soothe Erin's exasperation. Plagued by creatures no one else could see, the elderly man often kept to himself. He may have passed for eccentric, had he not pushed his caretaker out a window three years ago. Despite the risks, Erin knew he was the perfect candidate. When she first met the mute, his miserable state of care touched her heart. The deluge of medication they had given him had numbed his brain and coated his eyes in a light blue film. Erin had petitioned on his behalf, enrolling him on a more holistic path toward recovery.

"There you are Cookie." The doctor handed him the rumbled hat.

Noiselessly, he snatched it and twisted it gleefully in his hands. To show his affection, he bowed. Cookie shuffled away and returned to kneading a sticky pile of dough. The unofficial baking program helped to stimulate his troubled mind. Drugs weren't always the answer. _How many of these people needed only compassion? A kind confidant to-_

A looming presence triggered an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"My my my! What astonishing headway you are making with your patients Ms. Collins." A lanky man with a clean shaven head and amber-shaded glasses rubbed his chin in mock contemplation. "Your program is so... _popular_."

"We are only testing it out, Hugo." Erin spat. Hugo Strange was brilliant. Almost certainly, he was Gotham's leading psychiatrist. Despite his achievements, Erin could barely stand to look upon him. His arrogance and ruthlessness irked her to all ends. "Forgive me for not relying on pharmaceuticals to treat my patients."

"This," Hugo gestured to the kitchen, "is all temporary, my dear. Your patients are cold-blooded killers. Deranged butchers subdued only by tiny little pills. Have you put any thought into this at all?" The man leaned in slightly, observing the room's arrangement. "Look at all the objects that could be used against you! A rolling pin to knock you unconscious... an oven large enough to stuff you in."

"Just because you think like the mentally insane, doesn't mean that you are qualified to treat them." Erin clenched her fists, when Hugo laughed. "Why are you here, Professor? Shouldn't you be drinking brandy with your mates up the college? Or, perhaps, you have grown tired of the university's luxurious benefits already?"

"Goodness. You haven't heard?" Hugo entered the kitchen and stepped over to the preparation counter where Cookie silently worked. "I will be conducting a study here for next few months. Fully funded." Hugo tapped the table as Cookie rolled the dough into palm sized globs.

"A study pertaining to...?" Erin forced herself to ask.

"Obedience. Authority. You could say that I am taking a page out of Milgram's book."

"That experiment was highly unethical!"Erin could not suppress her temper. As the words left her mouth, she instantly regretted her show of emotion. Like a leech to blood, Hugo fed on her resentment.

"Indeed, Ms. Collins. Very unethical. Unfortunately for you, I have it on good authority to be here. You will do well to remember that my sweet Irish clover."

Erin remained silent. Violent images flashed through her mind. _I could kill you. You have no idea what I am capable of, Strange._ As if Hugo read her mind, he pulled off his glasses and shined them gently on his dark gray uniform.

"I suppose I will get to my final point then. Patient 188 is now my responsibility, which ought to give you plenty of free time to devote to your other patients." _You wicked man. I won't let you get away with this._ Hugo returned the spectacles to his face and clapped Cookie on the back. "Have Ms. Collins wash you up. I'll expect him in my office before you take lunch."

Pleased by the interaction, Hugo exited the kitchen smugly. Uncontrollable rage engulfed Erin. With all her power, she turned and hit the wall with her fist. The force cracked the skin on her knuckles; warm blood trickled from her hand to the dirty floor. Cookie hobbled over to Erin and patted her shoulder with his doughy hand. His smile slightly alleviated the pain spreading up her forearm. Dough smeared across her pristine uniform, but Erin excused it.

 _Thank you, Cookie._

* * *

 _Click._ The shutter snapped at a speed of approximately one one-thousandth of a second. A blaring, artificial light illuminated the model's vermillion red lips and high cheek bones. _Click. Click._ Blonde curls cascaded down to the woman's bare shoulders. Poised and elegant, she lounged comfortably in a burgundy, wingback chair. The photographer squinted through the lens finder, adjusting the camera angle to suit his artistic whims. _Click._

"Your eyes are breathtaking, but try _not_ to stare at the camera." The model pouted, but obeyed.

Careful not to interrupt her brother's creative process, Mia entered the flat and discreetly moved to the plush couch. Themis strongly disapproved of family and friends knocking at his front door. _Just come in and relax. Whenever._ Both Mia and her father had keys to his studio. _Family is not an important thing, it's everything._ An expression her brother quoted whenever they erupted into a seemingly impassable feud. In Mia's opinion, Themis's trust was considerably reckless. All of his associates and neighbors also had keys. He even neglected to recover old keys from past girlfriends. _Why bother locking your door at all?_

"Mia!" Themis exclaimed cheerfully. Five o'clock shadow shaded his jaw and a crop of dark disheveled hair just barely sheltered the tips of his ears. _When was the last time you showered, Themis?_ Her brother turned to address the model. "Cynthia, darling, how about you go out and grab us some lunch? My wallet is on the nightstand."

The model, completely nude, rose from her chair and disappeared into the bedroom.

Without further hesitation, Themisrushed over to his sister, pounced on the sofa, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder."It's been so long!"

"It's only been a week." Mia laughed. His lighthearted attitude was contagious.

"I can't be excited to see my sister? A week is a long time when you are used to seeing someone everyday." Themis scooted away to study her with his cognac brown eyes.

"You got me there." Mia replied. Sporting the latest Burberry trenchcoat, Cynthia emerged from the bedroom. She coyly brandished a leather wallet at the photographer, before leaving the apartment altogether. "Doing well for yourself, huh?"

Themis rolled his eyes. "I sense a bit of judgement, but I'm going to overlook that. All of my models, clothed or nude, are professionals." _Professional call girls maybe._ "But my guess is that you aren't here to discuss my work. What's up?"

"Well today-" Mia began, but Themis interrupted.

"Oh right! Today! Pops called and told me all about your job interview with the museum! How did it go?"

"Honestly, Themis, there was never any interview with the museum." Mia confessed.

"I don't understand. Why did you lie?" Her brother seemed disappointed.

"Pops has been through a lot and I just didn't want him to worry. You see, I went to the museum to hustle out an audition. That nightclub downtown, the one from the report, turned into a place called Oswald's-"

"An audition? There? Oh no! Absolutely not. My sister is not going to perform at a criminal den! I know the types who frequent that place. I don't want to think of you half-naked up on stage, men clamoring to grope you." Themis stood up and crossed his arms.

"It's a nightclub, not a _strip_ club!" Mia protested. "Let me get this straight, though. Your profession allows you to objectify women, but the moment your sister has to get up on a stage you turn into a self-righteous twat?"

"That is not the same and you know it."

"Besides, the owner, Oswald Cobblepot, is a nice enough guy. We went to school together and the two of us got along just fine."

"Cobblepot?" Themis repeated inquisitively, searching the fathoms of his consciousness.

"You and your friends called him Penguin, remember?" Mia sighed. The memory of her brother bullying the awkward boy at school was not her favorite recollection.

"The waddler? That bird-looking kid?" Themis covered his face and sighed. "I practically tortured that guy. He'll hate you by proxy if he finds out that you are my sister."

Exasperated, Mia threw her hands up in the air and rose from the sofa to confront Themis. "Don't you get it? This job is one step closer to finding out what happened to Delilah. The cops have stopped looking. They don't care! They never did."

"Am I supposed to let you end up like Delilah? Stand idly by while you surround yourself with thugs and crooks?" Themis frowned, but he knew his influence only stretched so far.

"I can handle it." _Famous last words. I almost didn't believe myself that time._ Without warning, Themis reached out and pulled her into a tight hug. The conversation had rattled him more than she had expected. "I can handle it." Mia repeated firmly.

"I know. Just- If you need anything, anything at all, you call me. Family is not just an important thing, it's everything." _Right on cue._ "And stop lying to Pops. You get him so excited, only to bring him down when you aren't actually trying."

 _Only a few more lies._ She promised silently.

* * *

The tiny bell chimed as Mia unlocked the door. Locking the entryway behind her, she walked into the store. The intimate, little shop was already neatly organized for tomorrow. _Sew Perfect: Custom Suits and Alterations_ was a thriving business. Professionals from across Gotham underwent a pilgrimage in order to obtain one of Avidan's pristine masterpieces. Although the store ran by appointment only, Avidan was hard-pressed to turn away a potential client. Honestly, Mia was not altogether sure how her father managed the business all on his own.

Mia wandered to the rear room and climbed up a secluded flight of stairs. A radio hummed from somewhere deep within the apartment's interior. For generations, their family had lived above the storefront. Three cramped bedrooms. A single bathroom. A kitchen that transformed into a dining area where communal meals were served. A small living room comfortable enough to seat everyone at one time. Somehow, the family of five had made the arrangements work. Now, however, it was only the two of them.

At the kitchen table, Avidan flipped through a stack of papers. He looked up as his daughter entered and pulled out a chair.

"How did it go?" Avidan asked excitedly, foregoing the usual small talk.

"The museum interview was a bust." Mia lied casually. His face fell for a moment, but Avidan recovered quickly. Her father stood up and rushed to the kitchen counter.

"Maybe next time then." Avidan picked up a bright pink box, embossed with a lustrous lavender print. "Still, you deserve a little something for your hard work. I picked this up for you. Your favorite."

Gently, Avidan placed the box in her hands. _LiLu's Cupcakes_. With a smile, Mia peeked into the box. A single cupcake rested neatly amidst a nest of periwinkle tissue paper. The Godfather: A miniature tiramisu sponge cake layered with mascarpone cheese frosting, espresso, and cocoa powder garnish.

"Thank you, Pops. You are too good to me." Avidan rejoined her at the table. Delicately, Mia unwrapped the base of the cupcake from its floral paper cover and took a bite. "There is a little bit of reason to celebrate." Mia explained after she swallowed. "On my way out of the museum, I ran into an old friend who runs a snazzy little place downtown. I was invited to audition for a stage job there." Mia tried not to view his reaction directly, but instead tried to gauge his it through a side-glance.

"An audition?" Avidan seemed confused at first, and then all at once he clapped his hands together. "You'll be singing again?!"

"If everything goes right, I suppose so."

"The world works in such mysterious ways! You going to that museum today must have been fate stringing you along." Avidan's eyes sparkled with the tint of hopeful dreams. _Fate? Not quite-_ "Your mother would be so proud of you."

The final note melted Mia's heart. Music was the talent they had shared. Her mother, her teacher, her biggest fan. Indeed, she would have been pleased to know Mia was putting her talents to good use. Her mother would also understand and appreciate Mia's determination to locate her sister.

"I know, Pops." Mia finally managed to form the words. "I really wouldn't know what to do without you." Avidan reached out and took her hand, which he squeezed tenderly.

The pair sat in a peaceful silence for nearly an hour, before Mia chose to retire for the evening. She bid her father a goodnight, tottered to an adjacent room, and flipped the light switch on. For nearly eighteen years, Mia had shared this space with her sister. When Mia had moved out five years ago, Delilah remained behind to assist their widowed father with the business. Three years later Delilah vanished. Despite the police's efforts, the girl was never located. To console her father, Mia chose to return to the family home. The temporary arrangement matured into two years, leading her into the present. Mia slipped off the suit jacket and shoes. All remaining energy evaporated from her body. Laying back in the feathered pillows of her bed, she heaved a heavy sigh. Blindly, she reached toward her nightstand and pulled out a photograph. The last picture Themis ever took of his sisters. Mid-laugh, Delilah smiled sweetly up from the image. Sandy blonde hair sprayed wildly about, wind produced from Themis's background fan. In the photograph, Mia's nose crinkled in happiness, her head rested on Delilah's shoulder.

"This is going to work. It has to work." Mia stared at the smiling faces, allowing hours to slip by unhindered.


	2. Chapter 2: Put the Gun Down

Chapter Two: Put the Gun Down

Mid-morning rays of sunlight shimmered brilliantly from behind a cluster of dissipating clouds. Although the rain had ceased for nearly an hour, a harsh wind threatened to deliver another downpour onto Gotham. In Robinson Park, a fledgling cop secured the crime scene with yellow caution tape. James Gordon patiently waited for his partner beneath an expansive elm tree. Droplets of water fell from the leaves above, dampening the officer's neatly trimmed hair. Harvey Bullock strolled lazily up the cobblestone path; a dark brimmed hat shielded his eyes.

"What do we got?"

"Nice of you to show up." James smirked. His partner only offered a shrug in response. The two officers left the shelter of the canopy and approached their latest victim. Sprawled on the lush grass, laid a soggy middle-age man with sunken eyes and a receding hairline. His pasty plump abdomen peeked through an unbuttoned shirt. Thoughtfully, Harvey sipped from his coffee and studied the corpse.

"It's such a shame." Harvey turned around and lifted the lid from his steaming beverage. "There are grounds in my coffee."

"Do we have a positive ID of the victim?" James asked, choosing to ignore his partner's complaint. Edward Nygma, the police department's forensic scientist, hovered over the body. No one answered James's question. Nearby, Harvey poured a portion of his coffee onto the lawn. "Hey, watch it! You are going to contaminate everything."

"I can't drink it with all this junk floating at the top. Relax, partner. Nygma can handle a few splashes of java. Ain't that right, Ed?" Harvey replied casually, attempting to take another taste of his coffee.

"Say you'd never seek to lose me, while you live we cannot part, I must dwell lifelong inside you, locked within your beating heart." Edward chanted happily. Both James and Harvey raised their eyebrows in unison.

"Are you coming onto me?" Harvey squinted at the scrawny forensic scientist.

Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Edward blinked in confusion. "What? No. No! Goodness. It's a riddle. Do you get it?"

"Tell us what you found, Ed." James kept the conversation on track.

"Blood. Um, well... the _absence_ of it actually. The victim has been completely drained. Not an ounce left!" Edward explained eagerly. Excitement caused his voice to quiver. "There is a single bullet wound to the chest-"

"Are you telling me that some sicko took this guy's liquids. Shot him, then dumped him on the street?" Repulsed, Harvey finally returned the plastic lid to his styrofoam cup.

For a moment, Edward considered the question. "Potentially. He may have been shot, drained, _then_ dumped here. Or alternatively, dumped here, shot, and _then_ drained. Or even-"

James grabbed Edward's shoulder. "We get it."

"Right." The forensic scientist hugged his clipboard. "There is something else the two of you should see." Motioning the officers forward, Edward returned to corpse. He cautiously knelt next to the body and used a pen to peel back the man's tattered collar. The skin of the victim's neck was punctured in several places; pallid tendons ligaments were visible through the gaping holes.

"Are those _bite_ marks?" James inspected the unusual pattern from afar.

"From an animal. A pretty sizable beast too. If I had to guess, I'd say that it was a hyena." Edward speculated.

"A hyena in Gotham… with a _gun_." Harvey reiterated placidly. "Well, I didn't see that one coming."

A brief silence fell over the team, as the men considered the implications of the evidence. No identity. A gunshot wound. No blood. Bitemarks? "Good work, Ed." James was the first to break the lull. With a grin, Edward nodded and left the two detectives to discuss their new case. Putting his hands in his pockets, James turned toward Harvey. "Have we received any reports of animals escaping from the City Zoo?"

"Not that I've heard." Harvey replied. He held the caution tape up for his partner to walk under. "There are plenty of hungry strays in this neighborhood though." They treked through the park toward the perimeter street, where James had parked the patrol car.

The younger officer finally shook his head. "I don't know, Harv. A stray wouldn't do damage like that. And the bullet? The blood? There is something really unsettling about all of this." James opened the driver's side door and leaned his elbows on the roof of the vehicle.

"You get to fill out the paperwork on this one then." Harvey snorted, bringing the beverage to his lips again. An expression of disgust flashed across his face when the brew hit his tongue. He dumped the remainder of the coffee on the curb and bitterly chucked the cup under the car.

"Really? Littering?"

"What? Are you gonna write me a ticket?" Harvey pulled opened the passenger door and slid into the vehicle. "Shut up and drive the damn car."

* * *

An intense static crackled over the loudspeaker. _All available staff please promptly report to the third floor auditorium to receive Professor Strange's message._ The disembodied voice spurred the patients into a sudden cacophony of disorder: Confusion, anger, and fear resounded off the building's crumbling concrete walls.

"All _available_ staff? Has management gone completely mad?" Frustrated, Erin attempted to pacify her patients in a gentle manner. "Please, Mr. Day, keep your clothes on! Mr. Wesker come out from under that table. There is no reason to- No! Otis Flannegan, you put that dead rat down this instant!" No one listened. The orders expired the moment Erin opened her mouth. "I need assistance in here! Now!"

Two exhausted technicians rushed into the room to isolate and sedate the unruly mob. With the additional support, Erin and her associates were able to suppress the chaos. _Brilliant. There goes the rest of today's session, drowned in a cocktail of sedatives._ Silently, Erin shuffled into the hallway, ran a hand through her hair, and started toward the auditorium. _This is a complete waste of time and energy. A message from Professor Strange? Hardly. More like declaration of pretension._

Striding at a brisk pace, Erin nearly missed Cookie. Unlike the other patients, he seemed perfectly delighted not to engage in the morning's mayhem. Instead, he ran his hand along the wall and inspected the cracks. Upon noticing his former therapist, Cookie rushed to match her pace. His presence was almost playful, the way he bounced along at her side. A small smile formed on her lips.

"I'm sorry Cookie, but I have to go to a meeting." Erin apologized.

Cookie pointed at himself and cocked his head to the side.

"No. Unfortunately, you can't come along. You won't be missing much though. It will be very boring. Not like baking." A pressure constricted Erin's heart, when she saw excitement flash across his eyes. _How can I break it to him that soon he won't be in the kitchen anymore?_ The little man grabbed her hand suddenly. Erin tensed, but remained calm. Cookie tenderly stroked the bandage wrapped around her knuckles. An undeniable gesture of concern for her well-being. Erin reached out and touched his shoulder. "I am alright, Cookie. Don't worry about me." With an understanding nod, the stout figure hobbled away, back to supervise the fissures in the wall. _I promise I won't let him hurt you._ Picking up her pace, Erin continued toward the assembly.

Careful not to attract any unnecessary attention, Erin discreetly pushed passed the auditorium's swinging doors and situated herself at the rear of the room. Although there were plenty of empty seats, Erin refused to relax. Instead, she folded her arms, straightened her spine, and squared her shoulders. The record would show that she was in attendance, but not openly pleased about it. Hugo Strange already stood on stage, resting his palms on a podium. The shades on all the windows were drawn. An ominous glow from the dusty floor lights beamed up and reflected in his glasses. As he spoke into the microphone, the meager assembly nodded their heads enthusiastically. _What rubbish does he have these people believing now?_

"In the next few months, we will change the world." Hugo continued. An apprehensive feeling washed over Erin; she sensed his gaze fall directly at her. "Recently, I have received a _multimillion_ dollar grant from a private enterprise to study deferential behaviors. Our great city of Gotham is plagued by depravity. Everyday, innocent civilians are exposed to horrendous crimes. Fathers murdered. Mothers raped. Children molested. Gotham needs a solution. Our solution."

 _You are so full of shit._

"This study will change the way we interact with violence. There will come a time when your loved ones can walk down a street without fear. What we do here will revolutionize the prison system nationwide-"

Gradually, Erin tuned out the professor's benevolent speech. _This study is good for me. It's good for you. It's good for Gotham. What about all these patients who need our help? Is your study good for them?_ Erin scoffed aloud, but no one noticed. Her thoughts drifted to Cookie. _You are going to take a pleasant old man, dope him up, and parade him around as your timid little pet? Clever._

"With the grant, we will be able to purchase new medical instruments, advanced security, and even bonuses for those attendants who participate." Hugo explained. The assembly exploded into a commotion of whispers. Money was the best incentive.

Erin could not stand to listen for another moment. Hugo Strange was not the messiah, he was a cunning racketeer. _I am going to make damn sure that everyone who reads your report knows that Cookie was harmless because of my work... not yours._ Unfortunately, in her haste to deliver her patient to Hugo's office the day before, Erin had neglected to complete all of the necessary discharge paperwork. Soundlessly, she slipped back out into the hallway. The professor's voice faded the farther she traveled down the corridor. If she were lucky, the file would still be on the Hugo's desk where she deposited it yesterday afternoon.

 _Just a quick in and out. He won't be the wiser._ Erin paused in front of Hugo's office to survey the area. Her hand met the cold brass of the knob as she nudged open the door. Guilt was the farthest feeling from her mind. _There is no privacy in Arkham. Besides, who is foolish enough to leave their door unlocked in a mental institution?_ Hurriedly, Erin approached the desk. _Fuck. He must have moved it._ She sifted through the top drawer. Nothing. A compartment to the left appeared promising. _Where is that blasted thing?_ Erin sifted through a stack of manilla envelopes and loose documents. _Charles "Cookie" Randell._

"Finally." Erin breathed a sigh of relief. Grabbing a pen from the desk, she scribbled in her final notes before officially discharging Cookie from her care. She tucked the document neatly back into the folder. As Erin moved to return the record, a peculiar metallic flash caught her eye. A golden seal stamped onto an exposed letter.

 _Dear Mr. Strange,_

 _Your letter from the 12th of July is acknowledged and my reply is as follows: The Government of Santa Prisca has agreed in principle to process the transfer applications of 32 inmates from Peña Duro to Arkham Asylum. You will be informed of the outcome in due course._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Antonio Tempesta, Secretary for Security_

An uncontrollable heat rushed to Erin's ears. "That son of a-"

"Can I help you with something Ms. Collins?" Hugo asked standing in the doorway. It was not fear that caused Erin's heart to pound against her ribcage, but outrage. Adrenaline caused her hands to shake. She pulled the letter from the drawer and slammed it on the counter.

"What the hell is this?" Erin demanded. _Parading around like a pompous arse is tolerable, but this..._ "You are having inmates transferred to Arkham, when we can't even handle the patients we have? There is no way Director Marks approved this."

"Perhaps you are just not familiar with all of our cultural nuances yet, but Americans find it very impolite when someone goes through their private affairs without permission." Hugo chided pleasantly, as if she were a child. _You condescending-_ "The director will be perfectly understanding about the transfer. After all, I require these subjects for my experiment. Everything will be handled and paid for without a hassle. You needn't worry yourself with such matters." The professor approached his desk and reclaimed the letter. "Now, if you could excuse yourself from my office. I am very busy."

It was not a request. Erin did not break eye contact with Hugo, even as she started out the door. _Arkham can't help more people while we are so understaffed. This man is going to run this place into the ground._ Hugo slammed the wooden door, causing the frosted glass window to rattle in protest. Allowing her anger to wane, Erin walked toward her own office, where she collapsed in a chair and covered her face. _How can I expect to win against a man with so much influence? They'll sooner run me out of Arkham._ Erin reached into her pocket and stared at her phone. An outside opinion would help organize her thoughts.

* * *

The rusted latch on the guitar case fastened shut with a powerful snap. Mia had spent all morning preparing for her audition. The instrument was tuned to the perfect pitch. She practiced the song repeatedly in order to break in the strings and warm up her vocal cords. Her cellphone vibrated vigorously on the nightstand. _Erin Collins._ With a confident composition, Mia swiped the screen to answer the phone.

"I didn't expect to hear from you until later tonight." Mia tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder.

"Did I catch you at a bad time?" Erin asked placidly. _Huh, she sounds off. I hope everything is alright._ Mia shoved her wallet and keys into her purse, slung it over her available shoulder, and stooped to grab the guitar case.

"Nah. I'm only just now heading out to catch the bus. We can talk while I wait." Closing the bedroom door behind her, Mia shuffled to the kitchen.

"How did everything at the museum go?"

Mia lowered her voice a degree, unsure of exactly where her father was lurking. "The plan went off without a hitch. He fell right into the act. I have the audition today at three. Themis isn't happy about the situation though." Ambiguity helped keep the walls from knowing the entire story.

"What brother wouldn't be upset? You are knowingly putting yourself in danger." Erin explained flatly. The comment did not bother Mia in the slightest; her friend's honesty allowed her to ground herself in reality. Mia put down her case, grabbed an apple, and crunched into it. _Can't perform on an empty stomach._

"What's up with you anyhow. You sound a bit... _preoccupied_." _Crunch_.

"I just fucking hate the politics of this place." _There we go. See how easy that was?_

"What happened?" Mia asked through a mouth full of Granny Smith.

"This guy... he doesn't care about Arkham or the patients. I doubt he cares about anyone actually. You see, he got this multimillion dollar grant to do research. Who gives a man like that millions of dollars?"

"Maybe he slept with the right person." Mia suggested playfully.

Erin strained a laugh. "Unlikely, but none of that matters. It just aggravates me that he used his power to take away my patient. He is even transferring a group of inmates to our facility, even though we don't have the manpower to care for them. It's as if he doesn't think of them as people. They are just a means to an end."

"Who is this guy anyway?" Mia chucked the apple core into the bin, grabbed her guitar case, and started down the stairs. Using her free hand, she brought the phone to the side of her head. Erin's hesitation intrigued her. "Come on. It's not like I am ever going to meet him."

"His name is Hugo Strange. He is a big shot professor from the university."

"Hugo _Strange_? Sounds like a creep." Mia chuckled as she walked past her father and his client. Avidan meticulously measured the height of the adolescent boy, while his silver haired caretaker watched pensively. _How adorable!_ "I'll give you a call later, Pops." Mia kissed him on the cheek.

"Good luck, dear." Avidan smiled kindly. He promptly returned to his patron. "You may lower your arms now, Bruce."

"He's practically a criminal." Erin growled. Mia returned to the conversation. "I just wish I could do something about it."

Mia ambled onto the street, her sights set on the distant bus stop. "Relax. Just be rational about it. What are your options?"

"There is absolutely _nothing_ I can do. No one is going to back me."

"So what if this guy has money and fame? You just need to show everyone that your methods are valuable too. Show your boss that your program will save the asylum more money in the long run."

"I suppose I could write up a report. Organize the numbers."

"Exactly. Now you are thinking!" Mia smiled kindly at a homeless man sitting on the curb with a shaggy dog at his hip and a plastic change bucket at his feet. Juggling her possessions, the girl slipped a hand into the pocket of her slacks and retrieved a five dollar bill. She planted it in the man's collection pail. "Money is what drives Gotham after all. It's the only language that anyone understands." The stranger nodded gratefully at her, and Mia pressed forward.

"That's true. Thanks for listening."

"Just remember, if the report doesn't work... then you can move onto sabotage and deceit." Mia chuckled. _That's one way of making them believe you._

"Stop that." Erin finally laughed. "Don't ruin your motivational speech with lunacy. Your first piece of advice was so wholesome and uncomplicated."

"Your loss."The bench at the bus stop was crowded with plump elderly women. A bearded man with a bald head rubbed his nose on his sleeve and leaned against the stop's awning. "Hey look, I can see the fifty-five coming. How about I stop by your apartment later tonight so we can talk more?"

"Sounds good to me. You can tell me all about your audition. Plus, I know that I am going to need a stiff drink after today."

Holding back a laugh with a snort, Mia agreed and hung up the phone. She slipped the device into her pocket. Public transit was not her favorite mode of transportation, but it was reliable for the most part. The bus hissed into position and opened its doors. Mia picked a seat near the middle, where she situated the guitar case between her legs. Men and women filtered off and on the bus as it carried the passengers downtown. The urban scenery blurred into a series of colors and shades passing by the window. Losing count of the stops, Mia watched for landmarks to tell exactly how far she had travelled. After forty patient minutes, she wrapped her fingers around the hanging cord and tugged gently. _Looks like I will be right on time._ The driver parked the bus at the next stop, directly across the street from Oswald's Nightclub.

Adjusting her leather jacket, Mia carefully crossed the busy road. The building itself was not impressive from the outside. A standard wall of concrete, without any windows. An unlit neon sign featured prominently near the burgundy door. _An umbrella. Seems appropriate._ Mia rapped three solid knocks on the door frame and waited. No answer. Again, the young musician beat on the entrance. Silence. Mia moved to try the knob, but it pulled away before she reached it. A broad-shouldered man stood in entryway.

"We aren't open yet." The man explained adamantly.

"I'm actually here for an audition." Mia gestured to her guitar case lamely.

"Ah," His gray eyes surveyed the woman curiously. "You must be Mia then." The man stepped aside to let her inside. Mia hurried past him, into the dimly lit lounge. The door closed behind her, forcing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. "I'm Butch. Butch Gilzean. I help Oswald manage the place."

Careful not to trip over her own two feet, Mia squinted and followed the edge of the wall. "It's nice to meet you, Butch. I was worried for a moment that I was at the wrong location."

"Nah. You're in the right place. Most of our guests just open the door though." Butch explained lightly. _Right. That's what I get for being polite then._

The club's interior reflected an elegance that its exterior did not. Amethyst lights showered the central stage. A neat arrangement of tables with pristine white cloths checkered the ground floor. Above, a mezzanine opened up to a high vaulted ceiling decorated with crystal chandeliers. The mahogany bar stretched toward the entrance, stocked full of overpriced liquors. Mauve umbrellas dangled from the ceiling and walls, providing shade from the artificial light. Butch led Mia through the labyrinth of tables and helped her up the steps of the platform.

"I'll go get Oswald for you. If you need anything before you get started, just let one of the technicians in the back know."

"Thank you." Mia dropped her case on the stage and stared out at the empty tables. Butch disappeared into the back room. For the first time in a long while, Mia felt the butterflies. Carnivorous, winged little insects swirling in her abdomen, stripping the lining from her stomach. She _loved_ that feeling.

* * *

 _Torture a man, and he will confess to anything._ Oswald stood rigidly in the alley, watching the two heavy-set men force his prisoner's head into a trough of overpriced vodka. The confession did not matter to the nightclub manager; he already knew the answer. The captive struggled to escape their grasp, but failed to break free. Grinning wickedly, Oswald raised his hand. The two henchmen obeyed the silent command by wrenching the victim's face from the alcohol. Sputtering, the helpless man choked up liquid and shut his burning eyes.

"M-Mr. C-Cobblepot, puh-pla-ease!" He managed. The four missing bottles of Johnnie Walker Blue Label added up to nearly eight hundred dollars of misplaced product. Oswald had watched the video surveillance from the night before. The dim-witted waiter, Vince Hollins, did not even think to shield his theft from the cameras.

"Just tell me the truth. That is all I have ever asked for."

"But I t-told-"

"Again." Oswald ordered with a sigh. _Imbecile. Do you think I am that stupid?_ The men dunked their captive's head back into the trough. _At least it is entertaining to watch._

Footsteps echoed off the walls. Unperturbed by the scene before him, Butch approached Oswald. "That girl is here."

Puzzled, Oswald wrinkled his nose."Girl?"

"Mia." Butch elaborated.

Exasperation filled Oswald's lungs as he exhaled in irritation. "Right. I actually should have expected her to show up and on time nonetheless." In the background, Vince thrashed wildly. Gradually, he slowed to a near stillness. Oswald looked over. "Pull him out. I don't want him dead yet." They pulled the man up for air and threw him on the ground. Delirious from alcohol consumption, Vince wretched causing his chest to rattled in exhaustion. "I suppose we can put this on hold for now. Mr. Hollins, please think about my question some more. It would be a real shame if I had to terminate your employment." _That would free up a space on our staff. We can't have that now, can we?_ Turning on his heel, Oswald limped back toward the nightclub. Butch held the back door open for his boss.

"I thought we weren't signing any new contracts." Butch pointed out blandly. Without any empathy, Oswald scowled at his assistant.

"We aren't."

"Then why-" Butch started.

"We will listen politely for a few minutes, then gently tell her to shove off." Oswald had already made up his mind about Mia. He walked through the door.

Butch frowned, under his breath he mumbled. "I don't know why anyone would want to work here willingly anyway."

"What did you say?" _Go on, speak your thoughts. You'll find yourself worse off than Hollins._

"Nothing important." Butch smiled grudgingly.

The two men entered the main gallery, a heavy silence hanging between them. On stage, Mia adjusted the height of the microphone. A strap rested across her shoulder, allowing the acoustic-electric guitar to dangle by her side. Their entrance went unnoticed, which gave Oswald a chance to study her in depth. For a moment, Mia seemed less threatening to him. Delicate, even. Malevolent jeers and taunts were far from his mind. Instead, viewing her up on the stage reminded him of their occasional rooftop conversations.

 _What if I fall? You aren't going to fall. Why can't we just feed the birds down in the park? Because birds are born with wings. What does that even mean? If you had wings, would you want to stay on the ground?_ The girl was nonsense, wrapped up in layer of charm. To some extent, it was refreshing. Mia looked up from her instrument and their eyes connected. For Oswald, the moment was lost once again to indignation. He could not bring himself to hold her gaze, and that silently angered him.

"Mia! How good it is to see you again!" Oswald forced a smile for civility. He spun a chair around and sat backwards, with his arms propped up on the posterior. Butch did not take a seat, but stood behind Oswald and waited.

"It's good to see-"

"What will you be singing today?" Oswald cut her off.

"Put the Gun Down by ZZ Ward." Mia replied gently. "I am open to requests though."

"A song is a song. You just need to impress me." Oswald folded one forearm over the other and rested his chin atop the formation.

The musician nodded, checked the amp cable, and pulled the guitar in front of her calmly. Her eyes fell to the strings. Instinctively, her fingers met the frets and the chords rifted out into a blues beat. _I got ten fingers to the sky. My back to the wall. My white flag high. Hair, lips, just like a gun, she's got silver bullets on her tongue._ As Mia sang, she tapped her boot to keep rhythm.

Both Oswald and Butch stared motionless, paralyzed by the girl's honeyed voice. _Oh, Adeline, have mercy! You don't wanna break my heart. Take what's mine, don't hurt me. Steal my money, steal my car. Don't take my man. Don't take my man. I said, don't take my man, 'cause you know you can. Put the gun down._ Was this the same Mia? The woman from the museum who could barely function at her daily job.

 _She won't give up until I'm gone. I think I'm cursed. I had him first!_

A broad smile plastered to his face, Butch sat down next to Oswald. The nightclub manager failed to notice. His piercing blues eyes fixed on the entertainment.

 _Put the gun down. Put the gun down. Put your finger on the trigger now. Put it down! Put it down!_

Mia rocked from her heels to her toes, strumming the guitar in tempo with the raw emotion of the song. _Put the gun down. Or I'mma set fire to the whole damn house. Put it down! Put it down!_ Each bluesy note flowed over her tongue like sultry liquid. Mia finally drifted into wavering final note, and her guitar fell silent. She allowed her arms to hang over her guitar. Both Butch and Oswald remained in quiet contemplation.

The lull made Mia noticeably uncomfortable. "I can sing another if you like."

Oswald shook his head, while Butch nodded enthusiastically. "No, that is quite alright." _I did not expect for her to be this good._

"She's good boss. Better than a lot of the other performers we have here. I know what you said but-"

"Don't you think I know that?" Oswald snarled out a whisper. In a gentler tone, he addressed Mia from across the room. "Come down here so we can talk formally."

Diligently, Mia unplugged the cable to her guitar and tucked the instrument into its case. She snapped the latch shut, hopped off the stage, and approached the table. _Well, I won't make this last part easy for her._

"Do you play any other instruments?" Oswald asked.

"Yes. Piano and violin." Mia responded. "And I learn quickly, if you need someone with particular skills." Oswald motioned for her to take a seat. She obeyed graciously, all the while smiling at him. _How fast can I wipe that smile off your face? I bet if I said get lost, you might even cry._

"I have to admit, Mia, I did not intend to hire you today." Mia's face fell a fraction, but her disposition remained hopeful. _She's stronger than she lets on._ "I suppose it would be a waste for such potential to walk out my door. We might be able to work something out."

Unexpectedly, Mia jumped from the table. Her enthusiasm caught him off-guard. "Oh, thank you Mr. Cobblepot! Truly, it's an honor!" Butch scoffed back a laugh, but no one seemed concerned.

"Call me Oswald. We were childhood friends, after all."

"Thank you, Oswald." Mia repeated happily.

"There are a few stipulations." Oswald wanted to know how far her could push her dedication. "You need to pull your own around here. If you want to sing on stage you'll have to waitress on your off nights. We just lost one of our beloved waiters in a tragic drinking accident."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I wouldn't mind helping out at all though. Whatever you need." Mia agreed immediately.

"It is also standard policy that you cannot hold any other job while you work here." Oswald continued.

Butch scoffed again at the lie. _If you scoff again, I will gut you Gilzean._

"That's fine." Mia replied. There was no job to have to quit, so she felt no desire to complain.

"You will receive a server's salary and we do not offer our employees benefits."

"I've worked for tips before. It's perfectly alright with me."

Oswald was running out ways to make the position less appealing. "You can expect to be here every night for the next few weeks." The pressure of the situation caused his eye to twitch. He had no valid reason to reject Mia, but he vowed internally to make it severely uncomfortable if she decided to stay.

"I can handle that."

"Great." Oswald smiled pleasantly, though on the inside his muscles clenched. "Let's sign some paperwork."

* * *

Six o'clock. For Erin, the burdens of the day were finally over. All of her patients were in the capable hands of the evening staff. The lights in her office were off. The office door was securely locked. _If I forgot anything, it can wait until tomorrow. I am going to go home, plant myself on the couch with some wine, and enjoy the company of my friend._ As Erin proceeded along the corridor toward the exit, she mindlessly sifted through her purse for her keys. _Where the hell did I put them?_ An abrupt movement in her peripheries caused Erin to pause.

To her surprise, Erin found herself standing directly in front of the kitchen. Beneath the faulty light, Cookie dutifully stood at the wooden counter kneading a sticky pile of dough. Erin scanned the area intuitively; no nurses or attendants were around to supervise her former patient. _What if he burned himself? What if he forgot to turn off the oven and the whole place caught fire?_ _Figures. No one wants to be responsible, so it is up to me once again._ Watching Cookie continue his routine gave Erin confidence that her former patient would one day be able to function on his own. _I suppose I can stick around to keep an eye on him for a little while._ Considerately, Erin knocked on the door frame to announce her presence. Cookie did not look up, but increased his momentum into the mixture. The oven door was wide open, allowing heat to radiate intensely throughout the room.

"So Cookie, you are in here all by yourself?" It was a rhetorical question. The mute continued pulling at the dough. Erin stepped into the kitchen, her heels clicked against the peeling linoleum floor. Cookie rolled the dough against the floured cutting board, reached for the rolling pin and began flattening his creation. "What are you making tonight? A pizza maybe?" _Pizza. That sounds delicious._ The warmth from the open oven caused the little man to sweat profusely. Beads of perspiration rolled off his nose onto the food. _Maybe, not pizza then._

Smiling, Erin approached the counter and put her hands on the table. "Why do you have the oven open so soon? You must be so hot." She slipped behind the focused baker in order to close the oven door. "We'll just keep this closed until you're ready, okay? That's how we save energy-"

A sharp blow cracked Erin in the temple. The force sent her spiraling to the floor. White sparks blinded her line of vision. Before the therapist could recover, another force struck her in the chest fracturing several ribs. The room whirled around Erin. Fresh blood trickled down her face and matted her hair. In desperation, Erin quickly rolled onto her side and shielded her head as the next blow came down. Reflexively, the injured woman reached out for any object she could use to protect herself against the attacker. Pain exploded in her forearm. Cookie's face came into view, his teeth sunk deep into her limb. His left arm raised high above him to deliver another savage blow with the rolling pin. Erin's searching hand grazed the edge of a glue-trap. Without hesitation, Erin smashed the sticky paper into Cookie's face. Although the paper blinded her assailant and forced him backwards, he continued to flail wildly in her direction. Smacking down the heavy rolling pin on the floor near her face. Weakly, Erin attempted to pull herself up using the counter.

Before Erin could ground herself, Cookie lashed out again. Her hands gripped the splintered cutting board, which she threw up to deflect the next savage onslaught. Without the counter to balance her, the old man forced her back to the floor. Distant cold-blooded laughter filled her ears. _Ya were way in over yer head, Lass. Think killin' our police officers is a game? Here's a game fer ya then. The boys and I are gonna fuck ya, cut yer throat, then dump yer body in the Lagan. That's what ya get for helpin' them dirty republican types. No. No. No!_

"Stop!" Erin screamed.

With every ounce of remaining energy, the woman scrambled to her feet with the cutting board and rammed her weight toward her attacker. The wooden pin flew from his hands and rolled across the room. Cookie was on the floor, pinned beneath her. Violently, he reach out and grabbed a fistfull of her hair. Erin smashed the wooden board into his face. Over and over, she beat the block into his skull. Even after his grip on her hair fell limp, Erin continued. Hands shaking, she stopped only because the nurse pulled her off of the man. There was no pain. Only numbness. Stumbling to the wall, Erin propped herself up and stared back at the blood pooling into the kitchen drain. Nurses and doctors filtered into the room in slow motion. Cookie lay sprawled, in his usual silence, dead on the floor.


	3. Chapter 3: Antabuse

Chapter Three: Antabuse

 _Meow._ A soft gray paw appeared from underneath the door. Pink capped claws blindly groped at the air. _Meow._ The distant rumbling purr became more persistent. Mia sat on the floor, her back against the wall. Mindlessly, she taunted the playful feline by dangling a pen just beyond its reach. _Meow. I know, I know. I'm bored too. At least we have each other for company, right? Really, though, what do you have to complain about? You get to sleep all day. Access to free food. Not a care in the world! Do you have to find a lost sister? Do you have to concoct elaborate ploys?_ With an abrupt swipe, the paw captured hold of the pen. _Hey! That's-_

"Excuse me, can I help you?" A shriveled, old woman carrying a brown paper bag loomed over Mia. The cat capitalized on the distraction by tugging the pen free from Mia's hand and pulling it into the apartment.

"Oh no, ma'am. I'm just waiting for my friend to get home from work." _Weird. This is the third person to ask me why I'm here tonight. Were the residents of Gotham fighting a war against loitering?_

The woman seemed unsatisfied with Mia's answer. "It's nearly nine o'clock. Erin doesn't normally take visitors so late!" _Exactly, it's nine o'clock. So why, pray tell, are you even awake? Aren't old ladies and children usually asleep by now?_

"She's just running a little late." Mia continued. _Three hours late._

Normally, Mia did not worry about Erin. Her friend was durable, independent, and rational. A woman who never gambled with a risky situation, unless she had all of her facts straight. If Erin was late, the delay was intentional. Nevertheless, a few hours was enough to spark a tinge of uneasiness in the pit of Mia's stomach. After several more awkward moments and a sequence of judgemental huffs, the elderly woman retired to the residence across the hall. Mia sighed and folded her arms over her knees.

 _Have you ever been to a therapy session before, Mia? No. What brought you to counseling today? I guess, I'm here to get over my mother. Get over your mother? What do you mean by that? She's dead. I'm sorry to hear that... How long ago did that happen? A few months ago. Is that something you'd feel comfortable talking about? Not particularly._

A faint smile tickled Mia's lips. For months, Erin had patiently waited for her stubborn client to open up during session. The discussions dragged on without much of a breakthrough, but Erin gently pursued Mia's unresolved issues regarding abandonment and loss. Although the healing was slow, Mia benefited significantly from their Saturday meetings. If Erin could wait for months without complaint, then Mia held no objections to lingering in a hallway for a few measly hours. _Meow._

 _Back again, Cat?_ The paw clawed at the tattered weather strip, casually dragging pieces of black rubber into the loft. Mia reached into her leather bag and pulled out a small ziploc bag of turkey jerky. Tenderly, Mia dropped a strip of smoky meat near the flailing limb. _I bet she regiments your food. Leave it to Erin to take all spontaneity and joy from food._ The cat tugged the jerky through to the other side of the door. _If you were mine, I'd feed you all the time. You could come live with me and Pops. Would you like that? I bet you would._

Around the corner, the elevator dinged. After a few suspenseful moments, Erin staggered into Mia's line of sight. Immediately, her heart plummeted into her abdomen. Bruises discolored Erin's swollen face. Dried blood spattered across her uniform. Concerned, Mia jumped to her feet.

"Holy shit! Erin! What the hell happened to you?" Before Erin had a chance to answer, the elderly woman across the hall barreled through her front door.

"Do you know this girl, Ms. Collins? She's been lurking out here for hours! I'll call security!" The neighbor's raspy voice and sudden outburst surprised Mia. _Was that old crone watching me through her peephole this whole time?_ Erin, however, did not seem disturbed.

"Mrs. Kepka, everything is fine. Mia is a good friend of mine." Soothed by Erin's brief explanation, the woman eyed Mia skeptically one last time, before slowly returning to the depths of her watchful lair.

"What the fuck was _that_ about? And- And this?!" Mia gestured to Erin's face.

"My neighbors watch the place when I am not around." Erin pulled her keys from her purse and unlocked the door; she was cautious about avoiding the real issue. _Meow._ "Kepka is better than any home security camera."

Careful not to allow the cat escape through the front door, the pair entered the darkened flat. _Meow._ Mia snapped the door closed behind them, while Erin flipped a single light switch at the end of the hallway and dropped her keys on a polished end table. As usual, the spacious apartment was pristine and orderly. Ivory walls contrasted brightly against the northern red oak hardwood floors. Expansive windows opened onto a balcony that overlooked Robinson Park and several lavish designer malls. From the fifteenth floor, the loft's position afforded Erin both a grand view of Gotham, but also a degree of privacy. No other highrise buildings challenged the height or breadth of the Woodhollow Terrace complex.

Erin moved toward the opulent, charcoal couches at the center of the living room. A dusty gray Scottish Fold leapt onto the sofa, his bobbed tail twitching with excitement.

"Well?" Mia prompted again.

"I'm fine." Erin rubbed her eyes. She landed on the couch with a wince and an exhausted huff. The cat nurturingly rubbed his round head against his owner's bandaged hand. Mindlessly, Erin fondled her cat's folded ears. "While I was on my way out of work, one of my patients got out of control."

Mia approached the entrance of the living room, but did not venture closer. "A patient did this to you? He's sedated now though, right?" _Working at Arkham is going to get you killed._

"He's dead." Erin's voice was distant. In that moment, it became clear to Mia that the generous amounts of blood on Erin's uniform were not her own.

"Dead?" The question felt hollow as it left Mia's mouth.

"I killed him." Erin stated. _Meow._

"Have you called the police?" Mia asked in disbelief. _Erin? She couldn't- Kill a man? Could she?_

"No police." Her friend responded flatly. The atmosphere of the apartment was both frigid and suffocating. The artistic inkblot paintings on the wall seemed more violent than Mia had remembered. "Arkham handles these sorts of issues internally."

Mia studied Erin carefully. "These sorts of issues? I don't think the administration at Arkham is qualified to address assault and murder. "

"Do you honestly think I would _murder_ someone?" For the first time during their conversation, a flicker of emotion flashed across Erin's face: anger, betrayal, and annoyance.

"That's not what I meant! Just… Arkham can't suppress an issue like this! If someone assaulted you, and you reacted in self-defense then the police-"

"No police." Erin reiterated firmly. "If _you_ thought I murdered my patient, what conclusions do you think the police will come to?"

Mia refused to back down from the argument. "You have to file a report in case something happens. You could be accused of covering up manslaughter by someone who is out to get you." Erin remained silent. The point resonated between them. Mia took the opportunity to sit down next to her friend. "Anyone who looks at you right now is going to see that this is a self-defense case. You have nothing to worry about."

"The police aren't always on your side." Erin muttered under her breath, but her energy to argue was weakened by her confidant's rationality.

"Look, I know just who to call. He sort of handled my sister's case for awhile-"

"Right, because _that_ situation worked out so well." Erin narrowed her eyes. The words ripped into Mia's heart and caused another tense moment between the two friends. Swallowing her hurt and instinctual anger, Mia reached into her purse for her cell. _That was uncalled for, but she's clearly in shock. Just ignore it._ Scrolling through her address book, Mia quietly selected the detective's personal digits.

* * *

Meaningless fragments of conversation beat against Harvey Bullock's eardrums. Beer bottles clanked together. A drunken frat boy from Gotham University gallantly bellowed out the catchy Nighthawks chant. _Fight, Hawks fight! With all your might! For the Black and White! Never falter, never yield! As we march on down that field!_ The students screeched in unison, causing Harvey to grimace. _Keep marching! Let the spirit of our will, every Hawk with courage fill! Your loyalty means our victory! So fight, Hawks, fight!_ The off-duty police officer thoughtfully swirled the whiskey around in his glass. On the counter, he noticed his flip phone buzzing. Over the bacchanal, Harvey barely heard the cell's familiar ringtone. He did not recognize the number and, for a moment, considered ignoring the call altogether. Against his better judgement, Harvey took a swig of his drink and answered.

"Hello, I'm looking for Detective Bullock?" The voice sounded vaguely familiar. "It's Mia Mimidae."

"I'm afraid that name isn't ringing any bells." Harvey shot back the rest of his drink and pressed the phone closer to his ear. The frat boys started another round of rhythmic chanting.

"A few months back, you looked over my sister's case. Delilah?" Mia explained patiently. "You had been investigating a murder on the South End and called in my family to identify the body. It wasn't my sister, but we talked a bit after… remember? You let me look at some _confidential_ reports, then you gave me your number."

Harvey closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. The Mimidae Case had been a complete catastrophe. Last year, the charred remains of an unidentified female were discovered in a dumpster behind a local convenience store. All forensic countermeasures were taken to conceal the woman's identity; her teeth were smashed away and fire had licked away practically all organic material, melting even the fingerprints into blackened flesh. The Gotham City Police Department cross-referenced the missing persons database, scouring a potential match for the Jane Doe. Comparing the diagnostics to the available statistics, a girl named Delilah Mimidae appeared the most logical option.

The investigation was quick and the evidence messy. No suspect was ever named or arrested for the murder. In an attempt to add validity to the theory, the family was called to the morgue to identify the corpse. Both the father and brother hesitantly agreed that the person on the slab was Delilah. The sister, however, was not convinced. Everyday for three weeks, the young woman returned to the precinct. The sister's dedication both touched and annoyed Harvey, who reluctantly inherited the shambles of evidence from another officer. Before the files were permanently moved to the cold case department, Harvey allowed her to look over the documents for closure. Bringing himself back to the present conversation, the detective cleared his throat.

"Sounds like something I might do." The officer lifted his finger at the bartender to order another drink. "What can I do for you?"

"My friend really needs some help. She works at Arkham and was attacked earlier today. In self-defense, she killed a man-"

"Call the police." Harvey suggested blandly.

"But, you- you are the police! This is a sensitive situation. I wouldn't have called if it wasn't important." Mia pleaded.

The bartender slid another glass toward Harvey. "Look, I'm off the clock right now, but maybe I can drop by in the morning."

"Harvey, please. She needs to talk to someone tonight. The police couldn't find my sister, but perhaps you can help my friend." Mia played the card with the hope that it would give her an advantage. It did.

"Christ. Playing on my sympathy will only get you so far. Alright. I'll come by. Where are you?" Harvey waved at the bartender and motioned for a writing utensil. The bartender reached in his back pocket, retrieved a Sharpie, and placed it on the bar. As Mia provided the directions, Harvey jotted the information on a napkin. "Right. Okay. Yeah. I'll be there in about an hour."

"Thank you, Detective. I really appreciate it." The phone went silent. Harvey flipped the phone shut with a snap, placed it on the counter, then downed his new drink. The burn seared his throat and spread up to his nose. For a moment, he stared at the bottom of the glass.

"That last batch was the cheap shit, wasn't it?" Harvey asked picking up his cell again. The bartender polished a footed pilsner and pretended not to hear the officer's question. "No respect for the defenders of your goddamn city." The detective was slightly tipsy. How many drinks had he piled on tonight? Four. No. Six? Harvey clumsily dialed his partner's number. In his usual attentive manner, James answered the phone after only two rings.

"Home yet?" Harvey asked.

"Yeah, I just got in. Why?" The sound of James fumbling with his keys brought a smirk to Harvey's face. Inconveniencing his partner amused him.

"Don't get comfortable. I need you to meet me at Woodhollow Terrace. Uptown." Harvey did not bother explaining the details over the phone. Truthfully, he only really remembered a few foggy details from the conversation with Milly. No. Maya…? Mia.

"Is everything alright?" James asked concerned.

"Yeah, we are just going to check up on a minor situation. I'll meet you in front of the building." Before James could protest, Harvey hung up.

The officer pulled several bills from his worn wallet and tossed them on the bar. Just as the Nighthawk fans cheered for another round of beer, Harvey walked onto the dimly lit sidewalk. The evening air was thick with humidity. A gray haze blanketed the night sky, obscuring the summer stars. In the distance, a single lamp post flickered on the street drawing attention to a pair of racy hookers. Ignoring the neighborhood's blatant problem with prostitution, Harvey casually waved down a cab. A yellow taxi drifted to the curb. Harvey quietly climbed into the backseat and gave the driver the address. The armrest was sticky. Miles blurred into numbers calculated by the meter. Wildly, the driver whipped around each corner. For twenty seven minutes, Harvey fought the momentum and was grateful when the driver dropped him off across the street from Woodhollow Terrace. The buzz was beginning to wear off, revealing the dulled symptoms of an oncoming migraine.

Uptown Gotham, also known as the Garden District, was a perfect blend of elegance and modernity. With capacious, showy gardens, the neighborhood was a center for astounding scenery and architecture. The luxury highrise apartments set a standard that the rest of the city could not match. Harvey opened the glass door and flashed his badge at the doorman. Feeling slightly out of place in the building's atrium, Harvey approached his restless partner.

"What is going on?" James demanded.

Harvey moved to the elevator and pressed the up arrow.

"It's complicated. Suffice it to say, this girl used to come down to the station, claiming that the police weren't doing enough to find her sister. She wasn't altogether wrong. So I let her look over some of the files and gave her my number in case she needed to talk."

"Harv, you can't just let-"

"Spare me the talk." _Bing._ The doors of the elevator slid open and the two officers boarded the carriage. "We're going to fifteen."

James firmly pushed the number fifteen. "Well, what does she need?"

"Her friend is in some sort of trouble. Something about Arkham."

"You can't be serious. That could mean anything!" In frustration, James put his hands on his face. _Bing._ The elevator doors slid open, providing an escape route for Harvey. Followed by James, Harvey paused just before knocking on the apartment door.

"Just relax. I'm sure it's not that serious." Harvey snorted. James narrowed his eyes and hammered on the front door with his fist.

Across the hall, the neighbor's door cracked open. "Who is that? Who are you?" The old woman stepped into the hallway, wearing a white transparent nightgown.

"Uh…" Harvey bit his tongue to hold back a slew of impolite remarks.

"We are the police ma'am. No worries." James produced his badge, which caused the woman to grunt with irritation. The officers could barely decipher the curses she muttered at them. Not a moment too soon, Mia opened the door with a struggling cat in her arms.

"Detective Bullock!" The young woman paused when her eyes fell on James. "Who is this?"

"They are the police. Did you call the police? Why would you call them?" The old woman paced indignantly.

"Detective James Gordon." James reached out and shook Mia's hand, choosing to ignore the senile neighbor. "I'm Bullock's partner."

Mia quickly introduced herself, stepped aside, and allowed the men inside. "Thanks for coming by. We really appreciate it." As Mia closed the door, she caught Mrs. Kepka's disapproving scowl. The Scottish Fold brushed affectionately against Harvey's legs. The officer quickly brushed the cat aside with his foot.

"What does this look like to you?" Harvey asked, examining an artistic rendition of a Rorschach Test. James rolled his eyes and followed Mia into the living room, where Erin stood thoughtfully staring out the window.

"The detectives are here." Mia announced cautiously. "Do you think you are ready to talk to them?"

"I don't really seem to have much of a choice in the matter." Erin spat bitterly, turning to face her unwelcomed guests. Noticing the woman's disheveled appearance and darkening bruises, James hurriedly stepped forward.

"Have you been to the hospital?" James asked gently.

"For what? Bruises and a cracked rib? What would they do for me that I couldn't do for myself?" Erin growled like an animal entangled in a trap. "Let's get this over with. My name is Erin Collins and I work at Arkham Asy-"

"You're Irish." Harvey interrupted. The statement caught everyone off guard, particularly Erin. Her battered cheeks flushed hot with a sudden burst of anger.

"Wow! What a fucking observation! You must be head detective." Erin narrowed her eyes at the ceiling and laughed darkly. " _This_ is your guy, Mia? He smells like a dirty bar." Harvey huffed defensively and opened his mouth to respond, but James put a hand on his partner's shoulder.

"Everyone just calm down, alright?"

Exhausted, Mia rubbed her eyes and apologized for her friend. "As you can see, my friend is really stressed out after everything she's been through. Erin, just tell them what you told me and then they can leave."

Begrudgingly, Erin recounted the attack in a few curt words. Harvey remained uncharacteristically quiet and listened attentively to the story. Per the usual, James took the initiative and pressed the therapist with questions. When Erin was done, she returned to the comfort of staring listlessly into the shadowed landscape. After a brief silence, James attempted to take further control of the situation.

"We are going to need you to come down to the station to file an official report." James explained patiently.

"I am not going anywhere with you." Erin stated flatly. If her demeanor was tense before, it was noticeably more rigid. Erin turned and locked eyes with James. Neither seemed willing to back down.

"If you don't want to come willingly, I can arrest you on the grounds that you confessed to manslaughter." James explained.

The tension escalated, spurring Mia into a defensive mood as well. "That won't be necessary."

"Are you threatening me?" Erin snarled.

Harvey stepped in. "Jim is just winding down from a long day. Could you excuse us for a moment?" The detective pulled his partner back toward the front door.

"We have to bring her down to the station. She confessed to killing a man."

"In _self defense_. Look at her. She's been through the ringer. Do you really want to bring a victim down to the station after all that?"

"I am not comfortable with this." James wavered slightly.

"Besides, there is no body. No body, no crime. We can go down to Arkham first thing tomorrow. We can make the serious decisions later." The smile on Harvey's face broadened. "Look at the brightside, at least the taxpayers have one less lunatic to feed."

Despite Harvey's optimism, James refused to reciprocate the smile. Instead, he returned to the two women in the living room. "Miss Collins, we are going to need you walk us through the incident again tomorrow morning at Arkham. Do you think you could do that?"

"My boss isn't going to appreciate that." Erin muttered under her breath.

"Those are your options." James replied sharply. Without looking at the officers, Erin nodded in agreement. Calmly, James walked passed Harvey and toward the exit.

"Goodnight ladies. We'll be in touch." Harvey dipped his hat at the two women. Mia and the soft gray cat followed after the officers to see them out.

* * *

From the hallway, Mia heard Mrs. Kepka's final attempt to harass the off-duty detectives. Careful not to draw attention to herself, Mia discreetly closed the apartment door and bolted the deadlock. _Thaclunk!_ Mia pressed her forehead against the door and took a deep, lung-rattling breath. _Why do I feel like Detective Bullock just made everything worse?_ For a brief moment, Mia stared down at her shoes. The apartment was hauntingly silent. _What is there to say?_ _You did the right thing. Tomorrow is a new day. Everything will go back to normal with time._ Although the internal words oozed with good intention, they were not altogether true. Sympathy was useless. _Erin's life won't go back to normal. The memories of killing a man are sure to haunt her forever. There is nothing I can say to fix this._ The tattered weather strip along the bottom of the door suddenly brought a smile to Mia's lips. Pushing away from the door, the young woman slipped her hands into her pockets and returned to the living room.

"So, why does Professor Lollipop have pink claws?" Mia asked pleasantly, daring to break the silence.

"What the fuck are you going on about?" Erin's tense response wavered between an octave of irritation and sincere confusion.

"Your cat has pink claws." Wandering into the dimly lit kitchen, Mia fumbled for the light switch. _Where does she keep the alcohol?_ "I'm going to pour us some drinks."

Caught off guard by the useless question, Erin squinted at the Scottish Fold as it followed Mia into the adjacent room. "Well, you may not have noticed, but the Professor has done quite a bit of damage to the front door. The weather strip is practically missing now. I put the caps on his claws before maintenance comes to repair it for the _second_ time. Otherwise, what's the point?" The gray cat persistently rubbed against Mia's legs; the ploy for food went unnoticed. Forcibly, Mia drilled a screw into the cork and pulled the plug free from the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

"And you chose to use the color pink to... emasculate him? Got it." Mia poured a generous amount of Cabernet into two glasses, corked the bottle with a crystal stopper, and quickly reappeared in the living room with the beverages. Professor Lollipop weaved dangerously between her legs. _If you trip me-_

"Wine? Really? I think I am going to need something a bit stronger than that." The gesture, however, brought a faint smile to Erin's face. _At least it's working!_ Without a word, Mia turned on her heel back towards the kitchen. "Wait! Where the hell are you taking my drink?"

Mia stopped short, causing Professor Lollipop to unexpectedly crash into her shin. "I thought you said-"

"I never pass on good wine."

Mia shook her head, sidestepped the cat, and extended a glass to her friend. "How do you know it's any good if you haven't even tasted it?"

"Did you pull the bottle from the rack in the kitchen?" Erin swirled the burgundy liquid gently around the glass.

"Of course." Mia casually leaned against the arm of the sofa. Although Erin was bruised and bloody, the light conversation appeared to lift her spirits.

"If it was in my kitchen, it's good wine. Simple as that." Erin took a delicate sip to taste the product, before downing the entire glass. Exhausted, the therapist finally took a seat on the couch and placed the empty chalice on an end table. Professor Lollipop, purring vigorously, lept into her lap and curled into a ball. "My little Unionist. Gentle and attentive as always." _I think he's just hungry._ Much to the cat's protest, Erin scrunched his face between the palms of her hands and thumbed his dark whiskers.

"Unionist?" Mia inquired. _Seriously. With your accent and quips, it's like you are speaking an entirely different language._ The cat jumped from his owner's grasp and stared at her with a look of betrayal.

Blatantly ignoring Mia's question, Erin slipped her shoes and stockings off. "You know, I haven't had a chance to ask... How did the audition go?" That afternoon seemed like ages ago.

"I totally rocked it." Mia slipped onto the couch next to her friend. "I'm working every night this week. Next week too."

"That is a bit excessive." Erin examined the blood on her uniform thoughtfully. With nimble fingers, she unbuttoned the outer layer and shrugged it off.

"I'll actually be waitressing for a while, so the work ought to be easier." Mia tried not to stare at Erin's injuries for too long. The bruising was deep, but it would heal with rest and care.

"Waitressing?" Erin snorted. "You went for an audition and they saddled you with a serving job?"

"Honestly, it doesn't matter what I am doing, as long as I am there."

"You are determined. I'll give you that much." Erin closed her eyes and leaned her head back. Mia scratched the couch to coax Professor Lollipop closer. The cat stared unblinkingly at her hand, but did not move.

"Great, then you'll understand why I am going to stay with you for the next few weeks. I have to make sure you are alright."

"Absolutely not." Erin bristled. Professor Lollipop jumped back onto the couch between the two women.

"You don't really have a choice in the matter. I am _determined_ , remember?" Mia mimicked. Gently, the Professor's pink-tipped paw brushed up at Erin's face. "See, the Professor agrees." _Or… he is hungry._

"I can't argue with that logic. Isn't that right?" Erin did not have the energy to argue, rather she chose to scratch the Scottish Fold's chin. Content with the gentle attention, Professor Lollipop closed his eyes and rumbled out a purr of satisfaction.

* * *

Outside the police station, Harvey watched a feral tomcat pounce on an unsuspecting pigeon. The migraine from the night before pierced the backs of his eyes. An amalgamation of offensive odors assaulted his nose: sewer drains, dog shit, and carbon. As his sensitivity heightened, the smells transferred to his tastebuds. Gotham was a disagreeable flavor that only coffee could mask. Unfortunately for Harvey, there was no time for his caffeinated mouthwash that morning.

Too fat to effortlessly fly off the ground, the pigeon flopped helplessly against the concrete. The stray, with a swift motion, could have easily snapped the bird's neck with its jaws. Up against the laws of nature, the victim would find no mercy. James pulled up with the patrol car, just as the cat began pulling the feathers from the squirming bird's breast. Harvey noted that the cat was not particularly malnourished. Like many of the city's residents, the animal was merely an agent of chaos lurking the shadows. With averted eyes, Harvey opened the car door and situated himself in the passenger seat.

"You know, I really hate cats."

"That's…" Running on only three hours of sleep, James did not have the patience to feign sincerity. "Why are you telling me this? It's really too early, Harv."

"Nah, nah. Here me out. Cats are like little serial killers, right? Hunting around for animals smaller and weaker to pick off. Do you know how many times I've stepped on a half eaten rat?" Refusing to encourage his partner's behavior, James remained silent and focused on the road. "What do you think that says about the people who own them? It's like sharing a house with a person. A tiny, unbalanced, little psycho."

The sheer absurdity of Harvey's ramblings incited James into a response. "I think you are being a bit too sensitive. Cats aren't all that bad. In fact, I had a cat growing up. She'd sleep at the foot of my bed every night."

"I read somewhere that cats can develop the ability to read. Come on! They are way smarter than they let on." Harvey stared at the vehicles slowing down around them. The presence of the patrol car made other drivers self-conscious of the speed limit.

"This is why you shouldn't read. You get paranoid." James chuckled under his breath. Harvey's ramblings were off the wall at times, but amusing nonetheless.

After a moment of shared silence, Harvey continued. "Then, when you die, they eat you."

"What?" James side-glanced his partner, careful not to take his eyes completely off the street.

"My aunt, she had something like... thirteen cats. When she died, we found her the next week, all gnawed on."

"Is this what goes on in your brain?" James furrowed his brow, attempting to shake the vision of a half-eaten old woman from his mind.

"Sometimes." Harvey stared longingly out the window at The Busy Bean coffee shop. As the car passed, the officer sat up straight in his seat and adjusted his hat. "I can be productive though. For example, I was thinking that it would be better to split up today. One of us goes to that place where they lock up all the animals and the other can go to the zoo."

"That might work." James conceded. "I'll handle the situation down at Arkham while you take the car over to meet the Public Affairs Director at the zoo."

"Ah, well, you know… I think I should be the one to handle the Collins case today." Harvey suggested in his usual lackadaisical manner. Despite his partner's indifferent demeanor, James acknowledged the underlying reasons for Harvey's persistence. Rather than point out the blatant unprofessionalism of lusting after a female victim, James proposed another course of logic.

"I used to work at Arkham, remember? I think I am a bit more qualified to handle this issue."

"Right, but…" Harvey wiped his nose on his sleeve; he could not find gentle enough words to express his point. "You weren't exactly compassionate with the vic last night."

"What do you mean? I handled it according to protocol!" James retorted defensively.

"You were harsher than usual." Harvey stated flatly.

"How can I sympathize with someone who confessed to killing a man with their bare hands? If that had been a man, he'd be behind bars right now." Although James seemed adamant in his justifications, his vindication faltered. Much to his unease, Harvey's words had rattled him.

"Even now you are getting defensive. I'm just saying, I think it would be better if I went to the Asylum alone."

With the exception of the static sizzling from the transponder, the patrol car remained solemnly silent. James contemplated his past actions, while Harvey dreamt lazily of an Irish maiden handing him a cup of coffee saturated in whiskey. The disintegrating spires of Arkham Asylum came into focus as the officers drew nearer to their destination outside the city. Harvey pinched the bridge of his nose as the car sped up the serpentine road toward the dilapidated hospital. The parking lot was practically empty save for the four white school buses used to transport inmates between locations.

Begrudgingly, James pulled the vehicle around to the entrance and shifted into neutral. "Give me a ring when you need me to pick you up. If I find anything, I will let you know."

Harvey pushed the passenger door open and smiled excitedly at his partner. "Don't step in any elephant shit!"

"I'd advise you to do the same." James countered halfheartedly. "Was I really too harsh on Collins?"

"Don't worry about it, Jim. I'll put in a good word for you." Harvey slammed the door shut and moved toward the hospital's cracked stone steps. Shaking the considerations from his mind, James returned to the open road. Gotham Zoo was not a far drive from the asylum, but the beating the morning traffic was still an obstacle. Avoiding the highway, James accelerated down the backroads of the city's limits toward the park.

A wrought iron archway greeted the bustling early morning crowd. The scent of manure and popcorn permeated the breezeless air, amplified by the August sun. Despite the overpowering stench and rising temperature, guests continued to filter into Gotham Zoological Park and Gardens. The six hundred acre park was one of the city's most popular attractions, with over four hundred different animal species from across the world. Exotic trees and shrubs cast an array of dancing shadows upon the gravel pathway that led up to the admission booths. Following the traffic, the detective parked the patrol car in the main lot and proceeded on foot toward the entrance. Chaperones diligently herded groups of children from school buses to the front gates. The excitement bubbling amidst the masses of innocent gradeschoolers filled James with a genuine sense of gratification.

At the box office, James introduced himself by presenting his badge to the ticket clerk. The pockmarked man behind the glass accessed the nearby rotary phone to call the zoo's Public Affairs Director. James waited patiently, mentally counting the guests as they passed through the turnstile.

"Detective Gordon, I presume?" A short, Moroccan man with sharp-edged rectangular framed glasses approached James. The Public Affairs Director reached out and shook the officer's hand. "Samir El-Mofty. We spoke on the phone."

"Right. Thank you for meeting with me. I was hoping that you could shed a little light on a homicide case I'm currently working on." James explained.

"I can certainly try." Samir clapped the detective on the shoulder unexpectedly. "Let's chat privately in my office."

Pushing passed the turnstile, James followed Samir into the zoo. The loud, out of tune honking from the flamingo exhibit caused a group of children to explode into a fit of giggles. A man-made waterway serpentined up the center of the park, providing the ideal habitat for calico colored koi and painted turtles. Vibrant pink and white water lilies bloomed along the water's edges. Pathways looped and crisscrossed around the zoo, their boundaries lined with low hedgerows and mulch. Massive signs guided curious onlookers through the seven continents. One placard boasted: _Around the World in Three Hours or Less!_

Samir led James through a door and into the Reptile and Amphibian House. Brightly lit and spacious, twenty-three glass exhibits displayed scaly creatures from South America to Asia. Sifting through his keys, Samir stopped outside a door specified for staff only. The nearest exhibit read:

 _Armadillo Lizard (Cordylus cataphractu)_

 _Madagascar._

 _Fun Fact: Their whole body is plated by an armor of spiky scales._

Without moving, the Armadillo Lizard eyed James lazily from its position beneath the sun lamp. The reptile's jagged, splintery spikes were in a rough condition. James could not tell if the lizard's injuries were the result of a stressful life of captivity or perhaps a gruelling fight with its reflection in the glass.

"Your office is in _here_?" James asked skeptically.

"I am a bit out of place, I know. It's not as random as you might think though." Samir found the key, inserted it into the lock, and twisted the doorknob. "When I was younger, I studied herpetology. For many years, I was even the zoo's leading herpetologist! For financial reasons, I accepted my current position... but part of me always missed my old routine. So, I asked to keep my old office." Locking the door behind James, Samir continued forward up a flight of steps. "Additionally, this building is connected to the Center of Animal Care Sciences. All the zoologists and veterinarians have access to modern equipment for research purposes."

The two meandered the labyrinthine hallways, until the corridor opened into a large white tiled room. Fluorescent lights from above were reflected in the shine of a dozen stainless steel tables. Prepackaged needles, jars with cotton swabs, and a row of neatly organized medicine bottles lined the counters. At the rear of the room, a bleary eyed anteater with a crimson ear tag paced restlessly behind bars.

"I don't use the lab much myself anymore. Perhaps when I have more time, I will resume my study on the toxic proteins in the venom glands of the komodo dragon-"

"I'm not surprised that you find research preferable to error handling." A woman in a white coat interrupted unexpectedly. Analyzing Samir's guest with the utmost scrutiny, she glided into the lab from an adjacent room. A blonde ponytail swayed aggressively behind her as she approached the two men; the black band pulled the fragile strands of hair taut against her skull. Although James was certain the woman had just insulted the Public Affairs Director, Samir only smiled and excitedly threw his hands above his head.

"Dr. Friitawa! This is most excellent! Detective Gordon, this is our head veterinarian, Amelia Friitawa. She is also our theriogenologist."

"Thero...geno...what?" James furrowed his brow in confusion.

" _Theriogenologist_." Amelia repeated. "I study animal reproduction and obstetrics. Did I hear Dr. El-Mofty correctly? You are a detective?" For a moment, the veterinarian's haughty expression softened. "Are you finally here to investigate last month's goat slaughter scandal?"

"Goat slaughter?"

James turned to Samir for more information, but the guide was guarded with his words. With noticeable uneasiness, Samir smoothed his striped tie. "I am sure our good officer has more pressing matters to attend to."

"Oh? Of course. Whatever was I thinking? Caring for the animals! Perhaps I should sell my morals for nicer benefits and higher paycheck." The veterinarian grumbled in frustration, her eyes cast to the ceiling.

Although Samir aimed to end the conversation there, James pressed Amelia for more details. Logically, the detective hoped that an open discussion would help alleviate the tension brewing between the two colleagues. If the situation required it, James had no qualms with filing a report to ease the veterinarian's well-meaning concerns.

"Tell me what happened to the goats." James insisted.

"Last week, the petting zoo was completely decimated." Amelia lamented. "The sheep, llamas, and geese were spared, but all six goats were brutally mutilated and their blood completely drained. Two chickens as well. It was horrendous scene. I had called the police three times hoping for someone to come down."

"Drained of their blood?" The coincidence startled James. Hurriedly, Amelia moved to a locked filing cabinet, pulled a drawer open, and thumbed through her files.

Samir shook his head in disbelief. "Experts attributed the deaths to an unfortunate electrical accident. Standing water and an exposed live wire electrocuted the animals. It was very sad, but an accident."

"I saw the bodies firsthand. Here! I even have pictures to prove it." Amelia pulled out a handful of photographs and handed them to James. Flipping through the small stack, James observed the carnage with a tinge of apprehension. Both attacks occurred in locations where families often congregated, unaware and unprotected. All of the goats were pasty white. Close up shots of the neck revealed the same pattern of tattered flesh found on the victim's neck.

"Do you know what type of animal produced this set of bite marks?"

The veterinarian was impressed by the detective's attention to detail. "No. I've been running some tests, but the results came back inconclusive."

"I want copies of these pictures and a summary of your findings sent to the GCPD." James handed Amelia the photographs and turned to address the weary director. "Are all the animals in the zoo accounted for? Have any other animals turned up dead like this?"

"Of course. We take great pride in our security system." Samir clapped his hands together, eager to highlight the zoo's accomplishments rather than the recent tragedy.

"We _have_ had a few animals die of natural causes." Amelia pointed out flatly. "A kangaroo died last week from infection. A few oxpeckers from the African Aviary of old age. Nothing like this though. This though… this was a massacre."

A young albino girl with coke bottle glasses stumbled into the clinic nearly knocking over a tray of beakers. Locks of ivory hair colorlessly matched her pasty alabaster skin. Violet eyes scanned the room nervously as she straightened the glass instruments. Despite her initial embarrassment, the teenager's cheeks remained characteristically neutral.

"I've finished organizing the data we collected from the condors, mother. The blood samples show a significant trend toward hemochromatosis." The girl's voice was soft and unimposing, the ghost of a whisper.

The veterinarian shook her head with bitter remorse, before addressing James directly. "The only creature on earth whose natural habitat is a zoo, is a zookeeper." As the girl gathered up an armful of medications and hurried out of the clinic. Checking his watch to reassess the time, James felt a sudden irritation for the well-intentioned doctor.

"I hate to change the subject, but I think your daughter should be in school."

Defensively, Amelia bristled with contempt. "Why? So Linda can be mocked and gawked at like the monkeys they cage up for entertainment? She is homeschooled, Detective, and more brilliant than any of the bumbling little morons currently pressing their faces against the plexiglass and iron fences, fascinated by the way man plays God over the other beasts!" On the edge for so long, the conversation had taken a predictable turn for the worst. Armed with mediation seminars and techniques to calm tension, Samir diverted the attention back to himself.

"Doctor, we should allow you to return to your work. Detective?"

James did not take his eyes off the self-righteous, hypocritical veterinarian. However much he disagreed with her parenting style, there was little he could do. Her daughter seemed despondent, but not abused. Strained under the watchful eye of her mother, yet diligent in performing her tasks to the extent of a child's ability. It seemed ironic to James that a mother so adamant against zoo policy could not see that she herself had placed her daughter in a similar form of captivity.

* * *

The tautness of the seat belt tightened with every pothole. For twenty minutes, Erin endured the pain of security. Each bump in the road caused the safety strap to dig into her ribcage, sending a heated spasm up her chest. _I feel fucking trapped in my own car. God damned_ ━ Erin smashed her knuckle into the red button at her side. Unclasped, the seat belt reeled back within the vehicle's innards. The therapist took a slow deep breath, careful not to rattle the tender structure of her upper body. In the rearview mirror, Erin caught a glimpse of the bruises around her eyes. The reddish iron from the blood was already melding into a dark violet hue. _All of my patients are going to be on edge today. Lies travel faster than the truth in places like Arkham._

After braving the twists and turns of the main road, Erin guided the BMW gently into the sanctuary of the lot. Once the car was within the bounds of its designated space, Erin shut off the car, closed her eyes, and prepared herself for the day ahead. The stillness of the air navigated her into the present moment: a distant hum of city traffic, the lingering scent of floral shampoo and damp hair, the faintest taste of coffee. _KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!_ The unexpected noise startled the young woman, jostling her from the meditative trance. A searing throb resonated from her ribs to her spine.

"Good morning, Ms. Collins! Do you need any help?"

At the car window appeared the familiar, albeit undesirable, face of the officer from the night before. _Of course, the blundering drunk volunteered._ Without a word, Erin unlocked the door and pushed it open. Harvey held out his hand, but she ignored the chivalrous gesture. Although Erin struggled from the low car to standing height, the therapist was determined to complete the action on her own terms without the man's help. Erin purposely slammed the door and then slowly proceeded toward the trunk.

"I'm surprised that you are here so early, considering the amount of scotch you must have drank last night." Erin opened the trunk of her car and gingerly reached in for a small briefcase.

"Actually it was Irish whiskey. Jameson." Harvey corrected playfully.

Through her peripherals, Erin sized up the goodnatured detective and silently berated herself for the mistake. _I can't believe I mistook my favorite drink for scotch. I must have been really out of it last night._ Summoning the final reserves of energy, Erin pulled the trunk closed with a resounding thump. The downward motion knocked the woman off balance, causing her to flounder for support. Harvey caught Erin by the shoulders, but only long enough for her to regain her equilibrium.

"Are you alright?"

"What am I supposed to be showing you exactly?" Erin's tone was no longer out of irritation, but rather exhaustion. _I'll be alright. Then again, I really don't have any other option, do I?_

"You just need to walk me through what happened yesterday." Harvey explained.

Accommodatingly, Erin motioned the officer forward and led him up the hospital's steps. Withered flowers and unruly weeds adorned the cement pots on either side of the columned entrance. Only the decomposing stems and leaves of the once beautiful chrysanthemums remained. Eagerly, Harvey moved to open the door for her, but Erin passed through wordlessly before he could perform the polite action. In unison, Erin and Harvey lifted their credentials for the apathetic receptionist. From behind her latest edition of _Fashion Magazine_ , the young blonde waved them on. A second flight of stairs gradually steered the silent pair toward a rowdy hallway. _Am I the only one who takes my job seriously?_

"Try not to interact with the patients. They upset easily." Erin warned her guest.

Nudging passed a set of swinging doors, the therapist led the detective down the main ward. Deafening howls announced Erin's arrival: _KILLER! MURDERER! RUN! SHE'LL GET YOU TOO!_ Harvey restlessly lowered his hat over his eyes and felt for the gun at his side. While the majority of patients scampered away in a raucous, a few devoted followers lingered. Arms outstretched and twirling around in circles, Jervis blissfully revolved his way up to Erin.

"You!" Jervis cackled. "You are not the same as you were before."

"Not now, Jervis." Erin chided gently.

"You were much more… muchier. You've lost your muchness." Choosing to ignore the patient's delusional observations, Erin pressed forward. Harvey cringed as he side-stepped the red headed lunatic. "She killed a man! She killed him! He stole her muchness!"

"What is the meaning of all this commotion? Nurse! Please see Mr. Tetch to his room." A man with dapple-gray hair and a white mustache appeared from a nearby office. An addled nurse escorted Jervis out of the corridor, while the old man's topaz eyes scoured the hospital wing. His sights landed on Erin. "Dr. Collins! What are you doing here?" _Arsing around apparently. What does it look like I'm doing, Dr. Marks? I'm trying to go to work!_ "Nevermind, nevermind. I need to have a word with you." Abruptly, the director noticed Harvey and hesitated a moment before politely adding, "Who's this?"

"Detective Bullock." Erin explained.

"BULLOCKS!" Jervis shouted from a faraway room. The inappropriate outcry brought an amused blush to Erin's face.

"I'm investigating some rumors about an assault." Harvey cleared his throat to direct attention back to himself. He held out his hand to the approaching doctor. _Rumors? Can you make this anymore awkward?_ _I swear, you better not get me fired._

"A d-detective? Oh my, I━ Surely… Apologies, my name is Delroy Marks. I'm Arkham Asylum's Administrative Director." Delroy shook Harvey's hand vigorously. Despite the director's formal attire and collected expression, his hands trembled with guilt. Erin shot Delroy a look of caution, but the nervous director blathered on. "You know, things like this happen all the time. There really isn't any need for the police to get involved."

" _All_ the time?" Harvey raised an eyebrow incredulously. "Does that really sound like an acceptable excuse to you?"

"Oh, no! I just meant, this job… there are a lot of o-occupational hazards, you know!" The blood drained from Delroy's face as he flustered over his words. Unconsciously, the director scratched at the back of his right hand. "Please, have a look around. If you need anything at all, my staff is at your disposal." Delroy turned his attention to Erin directly. "At your earliest convenience, please come see me Dr. Collins."

Turning quickly on his heel, the director returned to his office leaving Erin to fulfill her duties to Harvey. The therapist motioned him forward, her heels striking the peeling linoleum with a rhythmic stride.

"Your boss seems nervous." Harvey commented.

"The kitchen is right down here." Erin quickened her pace, determined to get the detective's investigation over with. The short walk to the end of the corridor was reminiscent of the descent into Hell. Without air conditioning, a sweltering heat had ensconced the hospital. An occasional wail harkened to the tormented and twisted bodies of the seventh circle drowning in rivers of boiling blood and fire. The kitchen door was propped open, beckoning those brave enough to enter. _Abandon all hope, ye who enter here._ Erin approached the threshold and surveyed the scene.

"Looks like everything's been pretty much cleaned up." Harvey walked in and pulled a tattered leather notebook from his jacket. On the counter rested the cutting board, saturated with blood. "Whoa, so is this the━"

"Yeah." Erin did not stare too long at the blood-soaked board. She entered the room and recounted the tragedy for her listener. After reciting the gruesome details for the the fourth time, the therapist noticed the dull ache of guilt beginning to develop in her mind.

"Could you tell me your relationship to the deceased? Do you know where the body is now?"

"I already told you, he was my patient. And I don't know, you would have to talk to Dr. Marks. They rushed me out of here and to the clinic before I had my bearings." Erin could not bring herself to say Cookie's name aloud. The word _patient_ dried up on her tongue like a hard-to-swallow communion wafer.

"It is such a shame." Hugo lamented from the doorway. The sympathy was tinged with a subtle mockery only Erin could detect. "You have no idea how disappointing it is to see a colleague fail so horribly."

A cumbersome stillness momentarily muted the kitchen's occupants. Taking advantage of the silence, Hugo invited himself into the room. The haughty professor sauntered over to the splintered counter. With a disposition exuding indifference, Hugo brushed his fingers along the edge of the surface.

"And you are...?" Harvey asked skeptically. Embarrassed and annoyed, Erin turned away to concentrate on the chips of eggshell paint flaking from the wall. The woman's uneasiness produced a wicked grin from Hugo.

"Dr. Hugo Strange. You were right to call the police, Erin. I am distraught that the hospital didn't call the authorities for you." _You would have loved to see them take me away in a patrol car, wouldn't you?_ Erin folded her arms across her chest. "It's good to see you taking everything so well. You've endured a brutal assault and embarrassing failure, yet still manage to show your face. Brilliant. Absolutely stunning." Ignoring Harvey's presence, the hungry buzzard circled around the room forcing Erin to look at him. The doctor examined her bruises from afar; the smile on his face broadened.

Confused by the surmounting tension, Harvey moved closer to Erin. "I wouldn't really consider this a failure, per se. These people are unpredictable." The detective tried to soften the situation with a laugh.

"Oh no, no, no! Make no mistake. If she had noticed the signs and taken action, none of this would have happened. Instead, Dr. Collins put the tools of destruction into her patient's hands. Prevention is key to the success of what we do here after all. Perhaps you should have paid closer attention." For the first time, Hugo addressed Harvey directly. "Do you mind, detective, if I supplied you with a little report of my own?"

"As long as━" Harvey began, but Erin finally erupted in a fury. Unable to bear the discomfort any longer, she pushed passed Hugo and scowled at Harvey.

"Go on! Please!" The therapist laughed maniacally. "Enjoy yourselves at my expense! Since you insist on dragging my name through the gutter, I'll take this opportunity to excuse myself from the conversation to meet with the Director."

 _Whatever. I don't have the energy to deal with your fucking ego trip, Strange._ Without sparing a second glance, Erin rushed back into the hallway. The kitchen had threatened to suffocate her with the reminders of yesterday. Adding Hugo to the mix only intensified the situation. Although the air in the ward reeked of urine and antiseptics, Erin filled her lungs to full capacity. The male voices resonating from the room behind became distant, a series of muddled irrelevant noises. _I should have paid closer attention? I was the only one paying attention._ Sweat stung the laceration on her forehead. _Calm down, don't go into Marks's office upset._ Erin lightly thumped on the glass of the half-opened door with her knuckles. From his desk, Delroy beckoned the young therapist forward.

"Erin, come in. Oh, and if you could please shut the door?"Delroy asked gently. Calmly, Erin complied with the request. _Must be really bad news if you don't want anyone else to hear._ "Take a seat. There you are. How are you holding up?"

"I'm managing." Erin folded her hands into a steeple. The office chair aligned to the curvature of her spine, allowing her battered body a moment of unadulterated rest. "What did we need to discuss?"

For a moment, Delroy tapped his silver pen against the desk. The venerable old man muttered a few unintelligible words beneath his breath before lambasting Erin with the awful news.

"W-we think it's best if you take some time off to process this whole ordeal." A faraway voice murmured a similar message. _Ack! It's only a bit a time away, Erin. You'll be back befar ya git homesack._ "Also, it might benefit all parties if we worked on getting you transferred to an alternative location." _The States ain't so bad. It's fer ya protection besides._

An inconsolable rage shook Erin's shoulders. "We? Who is we? Why wasn't I included in this conversation?" Delroy grew pale and stammered for a reply, but Erin held up the palms of her hands. "Do you really think this is going to look good on the record? Demoting me! Punishing the victim!"

Taken aback by the woman's forwardness, Delroy cast his shy eyes at the ceiling. The blood pulsing to the veins in Erin's neck gradually lessened. Quietly, she dropped her hands back into her lap. This was not a fight between her and the director, but Hugo's money and her ethics.

"Dr. Collins, I am required by the board to place you on medical leave at the very least." Delroy took several shallow breaths before reverting his gaze back to his employee. Erin knew that the director was not an wicked man. _How objective will you remain once I am out of the picture? No wonder Strange was so pleased with himself._

"I understand." Erin whispered.

"Two months with halved pay." Delroy added cautiously. _You can't be serious!_ Erin's mind screamed, but the words were lost. The penalty was sanctioned and there was nothing left to argue.

Erin stood up slowly, flattened her skirt, and cleared her throat. "If it means anything at all, I'd like to stay at Arkham. I think I can still do a lot of good here."

"I think you can too, Dr. Collins. We can reassess your status in October." Delroy reassured her. _I really can keep going. I can do this. Don't worry about me_ ━ _No one needs to worry about me._

Fighting to remain poised and collected was a tiring process. Alone in the corridor, Erin began to walk aimlessly toward the stairs. _Go home._ An invisible hand squeezed her heart. _Sure, because God knows sitting at home thinking about all of this is going to make it all disappear._ Erin bit her quivering bottom lip. The cracks in the plaster walls were deeper than timeworn canyons. Yesterday, Cookie traversed those ravines. Adventure, meditation, obsession: Erin had no idea why the mute spent hours tracing the fissures. _But I want to know!_ Tears streamed down Erin's pale cheeks. _How could this happen to me?_ She covered her face and choked out a small sob.

A sharp jab to her hip brought her spiraling back into reality. "Here, we must run as fast as we can just to stay in place." Jervis pushed the corners of his mouth up with his fingers, an indication that the therapist should smile. "If you wish to go anywhere, you must run _twice_ as fast as that." Although the words made her scoff, Erin dried the moisture brimming beneath her eyelashes with her sleeve. As quickly as he appeared, Jervis giggled and tottered away into another room; evading the nurses was his new favorite game. Erin returned her gaze thoughtfully at the cracks in the wall. _I'm going to get to the bottom of this._ Fingernails bit into the palms of her hands. _And, if it's not too late, I may not have to run alone._

Urgency spurred Erin into a frantic search for Harvey. She hoped Hugo had not poisoned his mind too foul. Narrowing her options, Erin rushed to Hugo's office where she was relieved to hear their voices. Careful not to draw attention to herself, Erin crouched outside the door to listen.

"━was excessive force. Security is always on point here."

"Oh yeah. I've heard _all_ about your reputable security officers." Erin heard Harvey's pen scribbling furiously against paper.

"I also have it on good authority that Erin consumes alcohol during her lunch breaks."

"Shit doc, if I had to work here I would probably drink all the time too." Harvey snorted. Having heard enough to know Harvey was still fighting the good fight, Erin rapped firmly on the door frame to announce her presence.

"Enter." Hugo called as he handed a manila envelope over to Harvey. Rather than avert Hugo's leering stare, Erin glared directly at him. "You should find all the notes and observations about the patient in here."

Harvey cocked his head to the side and flipped through the file. Paper rustled to the beat of the detective's tapping foot. Erin yearned to follow along with the pages, but she refused to break eye contact.

"It says here that Charles Randell was in your care at the time of the assault, doctor. For all the flack you've given Collins, it seems a bit… uh… what's the word?" Harvey brandished the file about dramatically. "Oh, right! Ironic. It's a bit _ironic_ that you were so hard on her when you were supposed to be keeping an eye on him." Using such a profound word excited the officer; he hoped Erin took notice. Seemingly unimpressed, Erin ignored Harvey to address Hugo.

"Prevention is the key to success. Isn't that what you said?" _Guess I won't be shouldering all the blame after all._ Erin feigned a sweet, smile. Hugo's amiable attitude, however, vanished completely with the news. Taken aback by his own mistake, his iron gray eyes scanned the paperwork. Much to his displeasure, he had not taken into account the swift nature of Erin's signature.

Recovering gracefully, Hugo shook his head and smiled at the woman's challenge. "An unfortunate oversight on my part it seems."

"Stick around doc." With an unnecessary force, Harvey chucked the file onto Hugo's desk. A flurry of paperwork cascaded to the office floor. Noticeably annoyed by the brutish spectacle, Hugo cast a scowl at the detective. "I'll be back to get an official statement from you. So you may want to rethink some of those words."

The display of dominance generated a positive response from Erin in the form of a chuckle. Confidently, Harvey placed his notebook back into his breast pocket and held the door open for Erin to pass through. _I know this isn't over, but damn that felt good._ Having won the battle, the young therapist entered the hallway with renewed conviction. Behind them, Hugo's door shut with a loud indignant snap. _I've clawed my way out of hell before. This is no different._ Erin approached the barred window across the hall and admired the cloudless sky.

"You seem to have your _muchness_ back." Harvey joined her at the sill. Erin raised a judgmental eyebrow. "It's a joke. From before━ That guy━ remember?"

"Is there anything else I can help you with or can I go home now?" Erin pushed away from the window, leading Harvey toward the lobby stairs. Regardless of his answer, Erin had already decided to return to her apartment. As Erin descended the staircase, she noted the receptionist snoozing behind her magazine. Harvey struggled to regain his voice.

"Can I buy you dinner tonight?" Harvey scratched his cheek apprehensively. The unofficial investigation was officially over. The officer diligently followed Erin out the door and down the front steps.

"It's unbelievable. You really do have no sense of proper timing." Erin grimaced at the detective's unconcealed salaciousness. _Who asks a victim out for dinner?_

"Oh━ Well, I… I figured we could talk out any issues you might be having." _Romantic._ "You can even invite Mia! My treat." Distracted by the tasteless, conversational vomit spewing from his own mouth, Harvey missed a step and lurched forward. Feigning a bow, Harvey plucked the first flower the grass presented him: a golden dandelion. He lifted the weed up for Erin's amusement.

"Mia doesn't have time for dinner." Erin explained as she paused to thoughtlessly collect the token of gratitude. "She's slaving away downtown at Oswald's nightclub."

"That's dangerous." Harvey furrowed his eyebrows, briefly forgetting his attempt to

woo the Irish maiden before him.

 _No shit. Again with the obvious observations._ Tucking the dandelion through a buttonhole in her cardigan, Erin continued her stride toward the parking lot. "Yeah, well, it's your fault."

" _My_ fault?! How's that?" Harvey asked confused and slightly bothered by the inculpation. The gravel beneath their feet signaled the perimeter of the grounds.

"She's looking for the man that _you_ showed her in that blasted file."

Exasperated, Harvey rubbed his eyes and tipped his hat backwards. "I'll tell you what I told Mia: We looked for that guy for months. There were no leads. He's practically a ghost. I don't know what she expects to find." As the pair approached the waxed and polished cardinal red BMW, Erin unexpectedly twisted around to confront Harvey.

"Maybe if you spent more time chasing down criminals, rather than chasing down drinks at the bar or chasing tail, you'd have gotten somewhere." Erin retorted sharply. Assessing his position, the hesitant man wracked his brain for harmless words.

"You don't let things go do you?"

"I never forget what's worth remembering." Erin shook her head and pressed the automated button to unlock her car. "Or remember what is best forgotten."

In an attempt at reconciliation, Harvey quickly opened the car door for her. "Choose to remember what you want about me, but just wait… one of these days I'll show you that you're wrong to judge me so quickly." Erin rolled her eyes. "So, I'll pick you up at seven then?"

 _Honestly, I can't blame him for trying. Determination is an attractive quality though. Should I say yes?_ Erin slipped gingerly into the driver's seat, adjusted her mirror, then gripped the suede steering wheel in preparation. The dandelion fell from her chest into her lap. Momentarily, her crisp emerald eyes locked with the warmth of Harvey's bronze irises.

"No." Erin coyly tugged the door from the detective's grasp. Granting Harvey the smallest of smiles, Erin started the engine and yanked the car door shut.

* * *

Upstairs, Polina Koslov screeched at her husband of sixty-five years. The inconsolable old crone slammed doors and stomped on the floor. Her spouse, Henryk, was declared legally deaf two years ago; Oswald unfortunately was not. While Henryk stared unsympathetically into a blaring television set, Oswald covered his head with a pillow to muffle the earsplitting pitch of Polina's squawking. _One day, I am going to give you a real reason to squeal, you relentless withered harpy._ In a mild rage, the young man hurled the plush, feathered cushion across his small bedroom. Laying on his back, Oswald glared at the trembling ceiling.

Thick, vermillion red curtains prevented an overwhelming intrusion of sunlight. A bit of natural light managed to stream through the tiny holes left behind from fabric-eating moths. Although Oswald was never allowed to decorate the room according to his own tastes, he did not mind that the atmosphere reflected the Bohemian nature of his mother. Resting with mauve pillows beneath swathes of hanging scarves was relatively calming compared to his other hideaways. _Skarpetki są tak brudne!_ _Brudny!_ The innumerable framed photographs cluttering the wall rattled with unease. _I almost miss sleeping in my office... Almost._ Oswald rolled to the edge of the bed, sat up, and ran a hand through his hair.

The subtle hint of powdered sugar and frying oil wafted through the air. In the adjacent kitchen, pots clanged against pans and the sink sputtered against the air-pockets within the pipes. Oswald remained posed the edge of the bed, contemplating within the imperfect darkness. _What is mother up to? What time is it?_ Squinting, Oswald noted the carved, yet long silent, cuckoo clock on the wall behind him: 10:25. Waking up so late in the day was not productive. There was too much to do and only barely enough time to get it all done. Oswald had hoped that returning to his mother's apartment would ease his vexation and grant him the comforts of sleep. Alas, last night he remained awake. Tossing and turning over dreams and thoughts he could not control. If only he could wipe them clean from his mind. Unfortunately, lobotomies tended to be counterproductive and out of style for the times.

His newest employee was reason for his sleepless nights. For over two weeks, Oswald dealt internally with Mia's jovial nature and playful quips. The situation was made even more difficult by the fact that everyone else seemed to enjoy the addition. Watching the subordinates he paid for loyalty enjoying themselves for no good reason distressed him. To his frustration, Mia was flawless. She performed all her tasks diligently, on time, with a personable attitude━ Not that there was ever very much to do. His initial plan to make her uncomfortable had failed: Rather than forcing her to quit, Oswald trapped himself into a condition of permanence.

 _Pachniesz jak mokry pies! For the love of God, shut up!_ Oswald got dressed, taking the time to make sure every aspect of his jet black suit was in order. Securing a plum colored tie around his neck, Oswald observed himself in a small oval mirror before exiting his cramped bedroom. He limped into the dusty air of the open flat. His mother, Gertrud Kapelput, swayed blissfully across the kitchen, ruffling the lowest fringes of her white nightgown.

"Good morning mother." Oswald managed a tone of sincerity. _At least someone in this apartment is happy._

"My little darling!" Gertrud's eyes radiated with affection for her son. Her Old World accent rolled nearly every constant with a dramatic energy. "I haff made for you the favorite of when you were young." Gertrud picked up a plate of fried, powdered pastries and presented them to her son. "Chrusciki! Angel wings for an angelic boy." The crisp, sugar-dusted cookies were made with twists of dough, which were quickly fried in hot oil to form a bow tie treat.

"What's the special occasion?" Oswald asked, plucking a cookie from the plate. Forgetting Mia and the rowdy neighbors, the man smiled broadly. Childhood memories were not all bad.

"You used to love dese cookies. Remember? I'd hide dem up top of da ice box when you were so tiny. You couldn't reach to steal dem." Gertrud reached over and pinched his cheek.

"Right." Oswald crunched into the cookie, bathing in the attention. Occasionally, the affection was bothersome, but her sweets softened the embarrassment and strengthened his patience. "But why did you make the cookies? You only ever make them for holidays."

"My boy came home! Every time you come home, my heart skips and jumps. Boom, boom, boom! You stay away so often..." His mother trailed off.

 _Predictable. I should have seen this coming._ Gertrud was rewarding him for good behavior and guilting him for his extended absences. Before his mother could begin her paranoid ramblings about hussies, tramps, and the dangers of a midnight rendezvous, Oswald changed the subject.

"These are possibly the most _delicious_ cookies I have ever had the privilege of enjoying. Perhaps when my schedule opens up, we can make a batch together." Though empty, the promise delighted the old woman.

"Oh!" Gertrud pulled Oswald to her bosom and squeezed his head tightly. "You are such a good boy." Swallowing the last bit of his cookie, the devoted son waited patiently for his mother to release him. As soon as Gertrud set him free, Oswald reached passed her to snatch another cookie. "Take dem to work with you. Share dem with all your friends. Dey cannot resist!"

Pleasantly occupied with his pastry, Oswald grabbed his umbrella leaning against the door. _Does she really expect me to carry that platter through the city and just give them away to those hopeless fools?_ When he did not respond, Gertrud began to shift uncomfortably. _Christ, please don't get emotional._ Oswald hastily grabbed the tray of chrusciki, lifting it high over her head as he moved toward the door. Gertrud beamed happily and followed him to the threshold. Unable to shorten the affectionate farewell, Oswald quickened his pace down the stairs to make up for lost time. From the dimly lit stairwell, the young man emerged from a side door onto the city sidewalk.

Naturally, Oswald melded into the sparse crowd and rounded the nearest corner. The fringes of his mind itched with incessant memories best left forgotten. _What if I don't like it? Everyone loves red velvet cake, Oz. I'm not like everyone else. Stop procrastinating and try it! Fine. So, what do you think?!_ Shaking the voices from his head, Oswald paused next to a fly infested garbage bin. The recollection caused his hands to tremble with animosity. _I'm not like everyone else. I'm better._ Without the faintest bit of remorse, the heavy plate of homemade chrusciki plummeted to the bottom of the trash receptacle.

* * *

Peaks of vibrant colored icing rested neatly atop rows of tiny flavorful cakes. Tiers upon tiers displayed hundreds of unique gourmet sweets: French Macarons, assortments of chocolate, and succulent eclairs. The primary attraction, however, was the store's freshly baked cupcakes. Potential customers peered through the fuchsia tinted storefront window of Lilu's Cupcakery to marvel at the decadent array of choices. Tropical Key Lime, Grandmother's Coconut Cream, and Spiced Carrot were the newest additions to an already long list of daily flavors.

Patiently, Mia waited at the counter as the sprightly clerk gathered up a dozen different cupcakes. _Oh my God, they even have a Dublin Cream cake. I knew Erin should have come with me. After a few weeks, you'd think she'd really want to get out of the house… especially on a Friday._ The salesperson reappeared with a sizable lilac box and proceeded to calculate the total on the register. Reaching into her purse to grab her wallet, Mia accidently grazed the neon orange pill container labelled Antabuse.

 _If you had to make someone ill, without really hurting them, how would you do it? I don't like where this is going. Just humor me! Well, doctors use Antabuse for patients who want to curb alcoholism. Is it harmless? Compared to ipecac, I'd say so. Perfect, I need a prescription! I don't think you have a drinking problem, Mia._ Yesterday's conversation had not been a pleasant one. While Erin tried to stick firmly to her ethics, Mia challenged that once again her plan was the only way. Seeing that she could not convince her friend otherwise, Erin begrudgingly granted her request. With a polite smile, Mia paid the cashier and tenderly guided her purchase off the counter. _Hopefully this sugar rush can help me get through tonight._

The scent of vanilla, coffee, and confectioner's sugar followed her out onto the street. _Do I have time to stop in and see Pops?_ Renowned across the tristate area, the best bakery in town was located only a city block from her childhood home. Opting to check in on her father, Mia hurried in the direction of Sew Perfect. As Mia drifted by the storefront window, she noticed Avidan crouched next to a lanky young man in a lilac colored suit. The tailor was meticulously mending the length of the jacket's left cuff, chatting blithely away with his client. Mia knocked on the store's window, flashed a smile, and waved at the pair. Avidan paused a moment from his task to excitedly point at the storefront. Although Mia could not distinguish the man's exact words, she discerned by her father's expression that he was boasting about his daughter. The patron tipped his periwinkle fedora at Mia and winked coyly. The woman felt a heated blush blaze across the cool flesh of her cheeks. _I guess I'll talk to dad later._ Quickly, Mia gestured a goodbye and hurried off toward the bus stop.

Following the usual routine, Mia reached into her pocket to spare some change for the homeless man who typically sat near the stop. _Crap. Did I really spend that much money on cupcakes?_ With only enough for bus fare, Mia approached the transient man and offered him a cupcake instead. Humble and skittish, he graciously accepted the gift and shared the frosting with his canine companion.

All alone at the stop, Mia rewarded herself by taking a seat at the graffitied bench. After a ten minute wait, the fifty-five arrived with a hiss and opened its doors. Mia shuffled into an empty seat just behind the driver and leveled the box securely on her lap. Passengers filtered off and on the bus as the ten ton vehicle barrelled toward the center of downtown. _If you aren't going to show your face, then I'll force you out._ Baiting traps though, had proved more difficult than Mia expected. The man with the scar around his throat was elusive and Oswald's was not the happening place that Mooney's Nightclub had been years before. Tonight, she was going to increase her odds of finding him. Muscle memory prompted Mia to wrap her fingers around the hanging cord and tug.

Careful not to jostle the cakes, Mia steadily stepped down from the bus and cautiously crossed the street. A hot-tempered taxi driver blared his horn at the pedestrian, which motivated Mia to walk faster. The young woman bounded up the steps and entered the establishment without knocking. Inside, the club was dark, quiet, and practically motionless. In an hour, the business would open, but Mia predicted that the atmosphere would remain the same. Nearby, Butch sat at the bar with an alcoholic beverage already in his hand. Mia placed the box on the counter and settled in next to Butch.

"Isn't it a bit early to be drinking?" Mia asked observantly. The question was not judgemental, but filled with a natural blend of curiosity and jest.

"Haven't you heard? It's considered good luck to drink before five on weekdays ending in Y." Butch traced his finger along the edge of the glass then pointed at the package on the bar. "Whatcha got there?"

"Incentive." Mia explained mysteriously, drawing the box closer and peeking into it. Intrigued, Butch leaned over to sneak a glimpse, but Mia quickly shut the cardboard lid. "Now, Mr. Gilzean, I'd wager that you are a man who appreciates the intricacies of chocolate."

With a chuckle, Butch firmly padded his side. "Whatever gave you _that_ idea?"

"You are a man... who seeks the intoxicating swirl of semisweet cocoa and smooth peanut butter. Am I right?" Mia flipped the lid up and picked out the classic Peanut Butter Cup cupcake.

"Ah, now you are just flat out flirting with me." Butch shook his head and laughed.

"Do you want it or not?" Mia asked, swaying the dessert from side to side in a singular tantalizing motion. Although Butch reached out to take it, Mia withdrew the cake beyond his grasp. "I need your help later."

Butch raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter." Mia leaned in to whisper. "I have a plan to get a few more people in the place. You in?" Before Mia could react, Butch reached out and took the cake by the base.

"Why the hell not! My services are always up for hire, though, I've never been paid in pastry before."

"Excellent." _This is going to be easier than I thought._ Mia scanned the room. "Is Oswald in yet? Who else is here?"

Butch bit into the cupcake and took his time to swallow before answering. "Cobblepot is probably off brooding in his office. I think I saw Stuart prepping the tableware. Jackson is getting ready backstage." For a moment, Butch appeared agitated. "Nothing against Jackson, but I figured you'd be playing tonight."

"It's not a big deal." Mia picked up the box and slid off the stool. "I'm a patient person." It was only the partial truth. "We can talk about that later. I'm going to check up on the others. I'll be back in a jiff."

"Thanks for the warning." Stuffing the rest of the cake in his mouth, Butch finished the frosted treat.

Mia left the bar and scouted backstage for the infamous Screamin' Fingers Jackson. The old blues musician was an unsung Gotham legend. As a child, Mia appreciated the countless family outings spent exploring music festivals and local shows. When she was twelve years old, Mia watched Screamin' Fingers Jackson perform for the first time at the Bourbon Street Blues Fest. Now, nearly thirteen years later, the young musician had the pleasure of meeting with the man in person. The last few nights, Mia and Jackson chatted about instruments, songs, and the pathetic state of local music. Noticing her approach, the old venerable black man with a shock of white hair produced large grin.

"Hey Jax, I brought some treats for everyone. Interested?" Mia presented the box to him.

"Ah, now that's sweet of ya." Jackson surveyed the selection and rubbed the gray stubble on his jaw. "Is that carrot cake? My mother used to make the best carrot cake."

"It is. I can't imagine that this will compare to the real thing though." Mia plucked up the small spiced cake and handed it to Jackson. "I hope you can at least enjoy it for what it's worth."

"No worries, sweet thing." Jackson was a good man with plenty of years behind his eyes. Mia wanted to know all the experiences he had encountered while in the music business; she was sure he had impressive stories to reveal. "Any word from Mr. Cobblepot about your performance schedule?"

"Not yet. I'll try talking with him later." Mia shook her head and smiled. "I'm looking forward to your show tonight."

"Ya might be the only one, darlin'. Ain't expecting nobody to really come up tonight." Jackson shrugged and picked at the paper wrapper containing his cupcake. _Not if I can help it. Just wait, this place is going to be packed._

Twirling her hair, Mia chewed on the inside of her cheek. "A bad situation is just a blues song waiting to be written, right?" Mia slapped the old man on the shoulder and turned back toward lounge. "I'm going to clock in and pass out a few more of these. I'll check you later." With an earnest nod, Jackson returned to setting up the stage while Mia hurried back into the dining area. On her way to find Stuart Petes, the busboy, Mia bumped into Oswald. Without an apology, Oswald stepped around the woman and approached Butch at the bar.

"Gilzean, I need you to collect some checks before the house opens."

"Mhm." Butch licked the wrapper of cupcake. Disgusted by his assistant's lack of tact, the manager placed the list of patrons on the bar and turned away. "Hey Mia, I bet you can't guess Oswald's favorite flavor."

Excitedly, Mia smiled and approached Oswald with the open box. "I have a variety, but if my memory serves me correctly... you had an appreciation for red velvet cake. Am I right?"

"I don't eat desserts." Oswald scoffed callously.

 _Since when?_ For over a week, the tall pale man had seemed overly impatient and distant. His voltaic blue eyes rarely ever graced Mia with their attention. The sentences Oswald muttered grew shorter until Mia respectfully backed off. In the past, the boy was prone to fits of irrational outburst. Although they had not interacted for several years, Mia handled the current situation similarly to the way she would have in her youth.

"If you change your mind, they'll be in the back." Without malice or ill-intention, Mia removed herself from the situation by strolling over to Butch and placing a second serving of cake in front of him.

"Oh, I get it now. You are trying to make me fat!" Butch jokingly complained.

"You have it _all_ figured out." Mia retorted.

Disappearing into the back room, Mia positioned the box on a side table and propped it open. The elated waitress tied the waist apron around her hips, pocketed the Antabuse, and punched her time card at exactly five o'clock. Narcotically, Stuart examined each steaming hot plate, bowl, and piece of silverware as he removed it from the dishwasher. The recent high school graduate typically received the worst of Oswald's rage, so he took extreme care with all of his responsibilities. For over an hour, Mia helped the boy tidy up the preparation station, set the table linens, and sweep the floors. While the other three servers waited inattentively behind the bar listening to Jackson's warmups, Mia assisted Stuart with the majority of his tasks.

By half past nine, there were no more duties left to complete. The nightclub was empty except for the three fans dedicated to Screamin' Fingers Jackson. A small misguided part of Mia had hoped that Friday night would have naturally enticed the eager young crowds to visit the club. Unfortunately, the plan was still a necessity. _It's now or never._

Mia sat down next to Butch, who sipped his glass of scotch.

"This place is always so empty." Mia observed quietly.

"A lot of our clientele abandoned the place when the venue exchanged hands." It was a safe answer, but not entirely the truth.

For a moment, Mia watched Jackson play his own unique bluesy tune. "I have a plan to get them back. Are you still willing to help me?"

Butch laughed, but then noticed the contemplative expression on her face. "You can't just go out and get an audience. That takes time, advertising, and… efficient leadership."

"We don't have to play fair. In fact, I bet that if we can't _earn_ an audience we can at least steal one." Mia smiled. "Trust me, I already have an idea. We just have to make a few stops around town."

"You want to leave right now? Aren't you supposed to be waitressing?"

"There is no one _here_." Mia gestured to the room's shameless vacancy. "For Christ's sake, Oswald hasn't even ventured from his office. C'mon! It won't take us too long."

"Alright, alright! Calm yourself. I already said I'd help you earlier, didn't I?" Butch cocked an eyebrow, but shot back the remainder of his drink. "Let's go━ Uh, wait, where are we going exactly?"

"The Moonlight Lounge." Mia stated excitedly.

Intrigued by Mia's expeditious response, Butch scratched his chin before finally slipping off the barstool. Taking a shortcut through the back, the pair emerged onto a well-concealed parking lot. Butch flashed the lights on his black polished Cadillac and hit the automatic locks. Without hesitation, Mia climbed into the passenger's seat, secured her seat belt, and folded her hands in her lap. The passing moments were ethereal, drifting rapidly into and out of existence. Although Butch continued to make light conversation about the nightclub scene, Mia was far away. _Antabuse is used to curb chronic alcoholism. If you consume alcohol with it, it produces unpleasant side effects. Poisoning a bunch of drunks at a bar shouldn't be too hard, I imagine._ As the rival establishment came into view, the woman snapped back into the present. _The Moonlight Lounge._ From outside, the business hummed with music as people filtered passed the massive bouncer. _Now this is what a club should look like on a Friday night! I wonder if he is in there?_ Butch parallel parked the car with two sharp taps on the brake.

"I don't know how you expect to get into the Moonlight Lounge looking like... _that_." Butch commented pointing at her black slacks, white blouse, and waist apron. "You aren't exactly dressed to go clubbing."

"We aren't here to dance. So I'm not planning on going through the front doors." Mia clicked free of the seat belt and exited the car. "I am going to slip through the kitchens like any ordinary waitress." Careful not to step into open traffic, Butch followed Mia from the Cadillac to the alleyway beside the building. "Just stay out here and strike up some sanitation rumors about the place. Be ready to leave in a hurry."

"What are you going to do exactly?" Butch whispered loudly after her.

Even though she heard him, Mia did not answer. _You'll see._ Hurrying to the lounge's back door, Mia smoothed out her apron, adjusted her hair tie, and knocked on the door. A preoccupied dishwasher with soapy hands kicked the door open.

"What?" The man snapped harshly.

"Sorry. I stepped out for a moment and forgot the door locks." As if she had worked there for years, Mia confidently trudged into the kitchen. "I'll remember to put the door stop in next time."

Confused, the annoyed dishwasher grumbled and returned to the rising pillar of suds in his sink. Dressed like a typical waitress, none of the busy cooks and bussers gave the woman a second glance. Mia thrusted her hands into her apron and rushed to the window where a line of hot meals waited for delivery. With nimble fingers, the waitress unscrewed the childproof lid to access a pinch of powdered Antabuse. As Mia pretended to clean the plate, she sprinkled the ground up pills on several entrees and prepped glasses of water. _Mmm, looks like Parmesan!_ A waiter approached and unquestioningly selected three of the tainted plates.

Improvising, Mia grabbed a deserted tray and moved to the main floor. The waitstaff hustled between the tables. With full hands, Mia blended into the mix seamlessly. Electro swing music trumpeted through speakers inspiring feet to dance and hips to shake. _No, he's too short._ The excitement of live brass barely concealed the crowd's spirited chatter. _Way too fat… Mmm, much too old. That could have been him, if only he had the scar._ Mia side stepped a tipsy young woman with glow sticks in her hair. The thin, pale man with the scar around his throat was absent from the club scene; the last known person seen talking to her sister at Fish Mooney's. Interviewed sources described the clean-cut male as tall, blond, and personable: a man of class and sophistication. To Mia, however, the nameless gentleman appeared only as words on a page. There were no pictures or security footage from that night, but Mia was certain that she could identify him by the descriptions. _I guess you're not here._

A commotion at a nearby table caught the waitress's attention. With a shameless heave, a muscular man vomited onto his waiter's feet. The man's three companions laughed until the overwhelming scent of stomach acid caused them to wretch as well. _That was fast. I didn't think it would be so-_ Nearby, the young woman bedecked with neon glow sticks spewed her insides out onto the dance floor. Several other people around the lounge retched, while the distressed waiters hurried into the back for cleaning supplies and fresh air.

"What's going on?" An anxious woman asked Mia.

"Looks like food poisoning." Mia pushed the brewing guilt to the back of her mind. _Sometimes, you just have to break a few eggs._ "Could be in the food or the water… That's what happens when you don't keep your kitchen clean. Between you and me, Oswald's downtown is a much better experience than this." The woman and those who overheard Mia's declaration took the bait and left. Other partygoers, nauseated by the pooling piles of sick, covered their mouths and and quickly rushed out the front door. _I think it's time to get out of here before someone catches on._ Mia let her hair down, pulled off the waist apron, and unfastened the first few buttons of her blouse. Even marginally, the smallest changes could help to conceal her identity. Following the exodus, Mia slipped through the main doors passed the confused bouncer. Butch waited near the end of the dissipating line, chatting to a group of lively girls.

"Looky there! Just like I told you. The place is so dirty that everyone is getting sick." Butch explained pointing to a woman puking onto the curb. Mia shuffled up to the group and ran a hand through her hair.

"I think we should go to Oswald's instead. It's basically a vomit fest in there." Mia explained to Butch. Those waiting in line became noticeably anxious as more ailing people exited the business.

"Oswald's?" A woman with glitter smeared across her eyelids peered around Butch. "Is it really any good?"

"Best undiscovered place in town, if you ask me!" Butch winked and turned to the ladies. "In fact, right now they're serving half price drinks at the bar. Just bring all your friends and tell the bartender Gilzean sent ya." _Smooth. I bet you'll be having some fun when we get back._

As Butch waved down a taxi for his acquaintances, the cluster of females cackled excitedly. The women piled into the cab and set a course for Oswald's nightclub. Gradually, the crowds on the street lessened. Without drawing any unpleasant attention from the doorman, Mia and Butch successfully persuaded several apprehensive groups to join them for a more fulfilling night of drinking and dancing. Crossing the road cautiously, Mia gestured at Butch to return to his car.

"There is another place just around the block. Are you up for it?" Mia smiled and opened the passenger door.

"Are you kidding? I haven't had fun like this since…" Butch trailed off, but shook his head and slipped behind the steering wheel. "I am guessing you want to hit up The Stuffed Olive?"

"Yeah. A martini bar is bound to have plenty of customers on a Friday night, right?"

Nodding in agreement, Butch started the ignition and cruised back onto the boulevard. "Back there- that was brutal. Where did you come up with a plan like that?" _Brutal?_ Watching the chaos unfold had mildly disconcerted Mia, but she had not considered the act heinous. _Was Erin right? Maybe I didn't think this through._ Even in moderation, poisoning innocent men and women was a crime. _The way to hell is paved with good intentions._ For a moment, Mia felt nauseated by her own actions. Butch, however, projected a hearty burst of laughter. "It's definitely a new one for my book. I am thoroughly impressed."

The Cadillac coasted into a lot behind a massive brick building. Atop the structure perched a luminous green olive, welcoming guests to quench their thirst at the martini bar below. Before Butch could turn off the car, Mia hopped out and started for the back alley.

As she tied the waist apron around her hips, Butch called out for her. "Hey, hey, hey! If you really want to steal customers, you can't do the same thing at every place. Otherwise it becomes more of a noticeable conspiracy. Here- I have an idea. Follow me."

Metal scraped against metal as Butch yanked the fire escape ladder to ground level. With a single heave, Butch began his ascent up the wrought iron bars. Mia followed close behind. Conscious of the growing distance between her and the ground, Mia's hands tightly gripped the dirty railing. The fall would not result in death, but a broken back was nothing to look forward to either. Butch lifted himself over the side of the wall and held his hand out to help his ensuing companion. Graciously, Mia accepted the support and scrambled to the rooftop. _What are we going to do up here?_ The roof was painted with bird droppings and broken bricks. Scanning the area, Butch finally motioned Mia over an electrical box. A rusty screech revealed the inner wires and switches: the building's life force.

"No music, no lights, no party." Butch pulled a switchblade from his pocket. _You know, that's not a bad idea._ Curious, Mia moved closer to watch the process. With a steady hand, Butch moved to cut first wire.

"BZzZzZZzZZZZzzTTTTttt!"

Attached to the wires, Butch's solid form began to thrash about wildly. The blaring music below was suddenly still. _Oh my God! No!_ A single yelp escaped from Mia's throat and passed her quivering lips. Instinctively, she covered her face with trembling hands and turned away. _What have I d-_ A hearty laugh slowly coaxed Mia's pulse down to a normal pace. Wiping away a tear, Butch finished cutting all the wires, folded his switchblade, and returned it snugly to his jacket pocket. The grin on his face stretch from ear to ear. _Son of a bitch!_ Furious, Mia rushed over to the practical joker and punched his shoulder.

"You are awful! I thought you died!" Despite her initial rage, Butch's contagious laughter spurred her into a smile of her own. Pranks were harmless. If anything, the playful behavior demonstrated that Oswald's right hand man had accepted her in some way.

"Sorry. I just couldn't resist!" Butch rubbed his shoulder gingerly. With newfound energy, the man grabbed a loose brick from the floor and delivered several blows to the electrical box for good measure. "Now that's how you sabotage a business. Let's get out of here before they send someone up to check."

Although it was despicable, Mia loved it. She had never felt so alive. They hurried down the fire escape and, as they had at the Moonlight Lounge, the two deviants shamelessly advertised to the slew of clubbers disappointingly leaving the bar. _Visit the Oswald's nightclub down the street and to spread the word to your friends._ For the final time, Butch and Mia hurried back to the Cadillac. They continued to laugh and converse about illegal business strategies, pranks, and future possibilities. The drive itself was entertaining, as the pair surveyed the hoards of young people clamouring for parking outside Oswald's. Luckily for Butch, the hidden lot in the back was designated Employee Parking Only. As the jokes slowly dwindled, a bout of tired silence fell between them.

"You know, Mia, I didn't peg you as the devious type." Butch observed. Mia felt a bit uncomfortable. _Did I go too far? Does he know I am up to something?_ Butch shook his head. "For what it's worth, you sure do know how to have a good time." The two exited the vehicle and walked around the building to watch the hordes of incoming customers.

With a sigh of relief, Mia ran a hand through her hair. "That's what it's supposed to be about, right? A good time! What's the point of working in a nightclub if there isn't any action?"

"My thoughts exactly." Butch fondled the keys in his hands. A taxi full of loud fist pumping men drove by, ready to party and drink at the classy club downtown. "Still... that isn't the whole story is it? There is something a bit off about this whole situation."

 _Fuck. He's onto to me. He can't possibly know, can he? Will it matter? Oswald would flip shit if he found out I lied about my intentions._ "I don't understand what you mean." _Play dumb._

"I think you know _exactly_ what I mean." Butch's grave expression settled under a pair of contemplative forehead wrinkles. "You just happen to meet up with Oswald and weasel out an audition from him. You've gone through all this trouble to improve club business. And… well… _cupcakes_. I think it's rather obvious." Mia stared unblinkingly at the groups of partygoers funneling toward the nightclub. "You have a thing for Cobblepot."

An awkward high-pitched grunt burst from the young woman before she could suppress it with civility. Romance, especially with Oswald, was not on Mia's agenda. _Do I really come across that way?_ Slightly embarrassed, Mia puffed up by placing her hands on her hips. _I am not sure if that is better or worse than the truth._ "Look, I don't have a _thing_ for anyone. I just needed a job."

"Uh-huh, whatever you say." The two silently strolled side-by-side down the sidewalk toward the club. Nearing the entrance, Butch reached out and seized Mia's upper arm. The touch was earnest and sincere."Just a piece of advice, Mia, because I really do like you━ You seem like a good person. Don't get messed up in Oswald's world. He's self-absorbed and more than a little off. I'd hate to see you get hurt."

The advice was genuine, but Mia reflexively brushed it away with an eye roll. For years, family and friends had attempted to persuade her into abandoning half-cocted plans or ill-advised schemes. Too often their words fell on deaf ears; Mia was practically immune to persuasion. Butch's concern, however, was unsubstantiated. Oswald and Mia were friends━ a fragile term hastily transferred from adolescence to adulthood. The nightclub owner was only a minor fraction within the larger equation. For her intents and purposes, Mia's sole objective was to remain on the staff and keep the foot traffic flowing to the business. Keeping her boss and coworkers satisfied made the former operation easier.

"Butch, thanks, but you really don't have to worry about any of that." Mia hopped the first step and entered the building behind a tall man with a turquoise-dyed mohawk.

Every stool at the bar was occupied. Slacks chased skirts as they fluttered toward the designated dance floor. Onstage, Screamin' Fingers Jackson cradled his Fender Stratocaster and pressed his mouth to the microphone. _Then I began to fall so low. I didn't have a friend_ ━ _and no place to go._ The fragrance of alcohol pouring generously into glasses wafted about the room, carried above the light haze of smoke. Men and women clamored for empty tables and swayed drunkenly to the bluesy melody. _So if I ever get my hand on a dollar again. I'm gonna hold on to it till that eagle grins! Nobody knows you, when you are down out._

"Where have you two been?" Oswald snapped from across the room. Meandering around the throng of newcomers, the nightclub manager approached Mia and Butch. A grimace of disgust flickered across his face at the sound of his shoes sticking to the floor; the remnants of someone's spilled drink. "Stuart! Clean this floor!" With an air of urgency, the busboy behind the bar hurriedly disappeared into the back for a mop. Noticeably overwhelmed, Oswald returned his attention to his victims at the door. Patches of red highlighted his narrow cheekbones. "Care to explain?"

"Well, you see━" Butch began cautiously, but an eager Mia cut him off.

"We went out to get some customers." As the words left her lips, a faint feeling of uneasiness prompted her to look at the floor. "The place was a bit quiet."

"Did I ask you to do that?" Oswald asked plainly. Though the question seemed simple enough, his words were stained with a subtle hint of acidity.

"No. I suppose not." Mia answered honestly.

"What did I ask you to do today?" Oswald inquired.

"In all fairness━" Butch attempted to casually move between Mia and Oswald, but the manager's step forward prevented the larger man's safeguard.

"I'll discuss this with _you_ later. In the meantime, would you give us a moment to sort out this little misunderstanding?" It was not a request. _Please don't leave._ Butch bit his lip, but granted the two a moment alone. With her back to the wall, Mia felt cornered. Oblivious patrons slipped by the front door, unaware of the encounter. "What did I ask you to do today?"

"To waitress... but there was no one here to serve." Mia explained softly.

"Perhaps I was unclear about your position here. Let me be a bit more explicit. You only do what I tell you. No more, no less. If that means standing around in an empty parlor for six hours, then that is what you are going to do. Understand?"

Mia fidgeted uncomfortably, but gathered the courage to look Oswald in the eye as she responded. "Yes."

"Do something like this again," Oswald gestured at the mass of people enjoying themselves, "and you're fired." _Why are you so angry at me for helping your business? This was supposed to be a win-win situation. Do you really have that large of an ego trip going on?_ "Get to the back of the house and roll silverware." As Oswald turned away, Mia opened her mouth to protest. _The back of the house?! I won't see anyone from back there!_ "You can work for tips tomorrow." _Fuck your tips._ Mia clenched her fist and tried to hold onto her anger. Indignation was manageable, but the deep, disheartening pit growing in her stomach was corrosive. The elation Mia felt earlier had dissipated with the realization that tonight, like many nights before, she would not find her sister.


	4. Chapter 4: El Chupacabra

Chapter Four: El Chupacabra

 _Warm winds wisped wildly off the saltwater and across the powdered dunes. Despite his most earnest effort to prepare, Oswald was not suited for unaccommodating elements like sand, sun, and humidity. Miniscule grains passed through the inconspicuous cracks of his perfectly polished black shoes. The sand creeped into his socks, nesting uncomfortably between his toes. With each passing minute, the sun burned the pasty skin on the back of his neck. Oswald held onto his umbrella tightly. He wanted to open it, but knew the action would result in a series of taunts and jeers from his fellow classmates._

 _The Marine Biology class from the Gotham County High School was on their first field trip of the year. Located on the East End, Cape Carmine provided an exemplary ecosystem for scientific study. General education mandated that all sophomores take a natural science to complete the core curriculum. Oswald would have been happier scribbling away physics or chemistry notes in the comfort of an air-conditioned module, but other factors drove him toward the study of marine life. Chaperones lazily instructed the students to investigate the fragrance of the oyster bed left behind at low tide._

 _Unexpectedly, Mia hooked her elbow around Oswald's arm. Copper hair tied back into a ponytail, Mia's sunglasses perched atop her head to keep stray bangs from whipping violently against her face. Unlike Oswald, the girl was casually dressed for an adventurous day on the shore._

" _There is something I want to go and check out. Come with me?" Mia whispered into his ear. The instructors were too busy complaining to one another about the heat to notice the two students disappear behind a wall of seagrass. Back on solid ground, the pair kicked the sidewalk attempting to dislodge the sand from their shoes. Oswald looked around cautiously and opened his umbrella. With a subdued smirk, the boy held the refreshing shade over Mia and himself. "Thanks. I was starting to bake back there." The boy recognized the subtle hint of coconut sunblock. "I wanted to check out the lighthouse while we were here."_

" _The lighthouse? I didn't think that was open to the public."_

" _It's just for a minute." Mia insisted. The adventures never lasted just a minute. Oswald noticed that she glossed over his statement, but he chose to internalize his objections. "Look, there is a path just up this way."_

 _Deep down, Oswald was not even sure why he followed the girl as often as he did. Their escapades usually landed them in serious trouble with the authorities. Later, Oswald would have to sort out the mess with the school principal and his distraught mother. Despite the consequences, the boy consistently found himself in the same situation. Perhaps it was the way Mia engaged him━ or challenged his perspective. Oswald shifted the umbrella to get a better look at the towering structure. A weathered sign at the front read: Cape Carmine Lighthouse, Established 1862. The gravel crunched beneath their feet as the pair hurried up to the door. Eagerly, Mia jiggled the locked handle firmly. For a moment, a small sense of relief radiated throughout Oswald, until the girl knelt down and pulled a bobby pin from her hair. Oswald glanced around worriedly as Mia picked the mechanism._

" _You know, a locked door is often an indication that the location is not receiving guests." Oswald pointed out flatly. The lock opened with a click and Mia quickly pushed the heavy door inward._

" _It's not like we are here to vandalize the place… We just want to have a look around." The young sophomore entered the cylindrical atrium in awe. "Check it out! It's huge!"_

 _Hesitantly, Oswald closed his umbrella and stepped inside the concrete lighthouse. Mia launched herself up the spiral staircase. The iron railing shook with each step, bouncing a metallic echo off the salt eaten walls. A stench of decaying seaweed filled Oswald's nostrils as he climbed the two-hundred and sixteen steps to the top. Moderating her breath, Mia clambered onto the balcony and turned to wait for her friend. Oswald's heart raced, but his breathing remained composed. Reaching the top, he gripped the railing and stared out at the open ocean. A dull ache throbbed in his knee. Below, waves beat against the shore. The platform was too high for the gulls, which circled the base of the lighthouse looking for food scraps._

 _After a moment of silent contemplation, Mia folded her arms on the railing and took a deep breath. "It's beautiful. It must be spectacular at night. All lit up."_

 _"_ _Yeah. I bet it's a sight to see." Oswald muttered. The expansive ocean withdrew into the horizon; a fathomless puddle of ancient history and latent mystery. Yet, the allure of the sea was short lived. Oswald watched Mia instead, noting the strands of hair licking her cheekbones._

 _Mia squinted up at the sun, then back at the side of the lighthouse. "What's that say?"_

 _Moving closer to the inner wall, Oswald traced an inscription etched into the side of the building beneath the lens. "In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must also be present. Francis Bacon." The boy read aloud. Oswald turned back to Mia, who had returned her attention to the landscape. "Seems appropriate for a lighthouse. Wasn't Bacon the philosopher who said knowledge is power? I bet he was chock full of useful quips." Small sail boats and fishing schooners drifted across the water as Oswald returned to the railing._

 _"_ _Which are you?"_

" _Excuse me?" Oswald was caught off guard by her question._

" _Are you the darkness or the light?" Mia asked philosophically._

 _Oswald scoffed, but then put his hands in his pockets and leaned on the banister with his back to the sea. Mia always asked questions that annoyed him, but it was too difficult to censure her. "Compared to you, I'm practically a shadow."_

" _Ah." Noticing his discomfort, Mia nudged him playfully. "Is that why we work so well together then?"_

" _What does that insufferable gym teacher say all the time? Teamwork makes the dream work?" Oswald straightened his red and gray tie to hide his bemusement._

" _Is that the class all over the beach?" Mia asked abruptly, squinting at the specks of people below._

" _They are probably looking for us." Oswald snorted. Without regret, Mia rolled her eyes. Those dazzling aquamarine gems settled their sights on him, spurring the boy into a sudden fit of uncontrollable laughter━_ A door slammed, jostling Oswald from the comforts of his dream state.

The salt air and sunshine faded away from his memory, leaving Oswald to face the reality of another work day. Rubbing his eyes, the manager lifted his head off the hard oak desk. Butch stood patiently at the office door, waiting for Oswald to address him directly. After a long night overseeing a bustling business, the manager had no desire to deal with his assistant. All his energy was spent on reorganizing inventory and tending to customer satisfaction.

"What time is it?" Oswald grimaced and gestured for Butch to take a seat. _Don't think I haven't forgotten what you and… that… waitress did last night._ With a huff, Butch slid a glass of whisky toward his boss and sat down.

"Eight." Butch stated. Noticing the confused expression on Oswald's face, he clarified further. "In the _morning_. Look, I just need you to sign for the truck." Butch slammed a clipboard on the desk and stared unblinkingly at Oswald. The man's voice was rougher than usual. _Oh, I get it. This is a little temper tantrum. What? Are you going to chastise me for being too hard on the girl?_ Choosing to ignore Butch's tone, Oswald pulled the clipboard closer for inspection and pointed at the alcoholic beverage.

"And the whisky is for what exactly?" Oswald scanned the document for inconsistencies before adding his signature to the dotted line.

"I figured you might want it for what I am about to say." Butch replied boldly.

Leaning back in his chair, the nightclub manager steepled his fingers and prepared for the worst. "Is there something on your mind Gilzean? You know I take my employee's opinions very seriously."

"As a matter of fact _._ " Butch scratched his nose and leaned forward. "I went over the till and we made double what we usually make in a week last night."

"That's great." Noticing Butch's unabiding frown, Oswald narrowed his eyes. "Why isn't this cause to celebrate?" _Don't tell me you seriously━_

"I'm just going to come right out and say it then. For everything Mia has done, you haven't thanked her once. What is it? Do you two have a weird history or something?"

"We knew each other in high school." Oswald explained flatly. _Though I don't see how it is really any of your business._ "If she really does so much for me, then perhaps I should get rid of _you_ and promote _her_." Unconsciously, Oswald picked up the drink and swallowed a few ounces. _Why should it matter if I thank her anyway? Do I thank the rest of this miserable lot for doing their jobs?_ The confrontation put Oswald in an irritable state. Butch gently recoiled and walked a fine line around the conversation.

"The girl is working her tail off to impress you and, well... She's been giving you the eye since she got here."

"The eye?" Oswald coughed on final gulp of whisky.

"You know. The _eye_." Butch winked, but smacked his forehead in sudden disbelief. _Don't you dare ask it. I will cut out your tongue and feed it to your mother._ "You have been with a woman before right?"

"That is a highly inappropriate question." Oswald gritted his teeth and gripped the edge of his desk to restrain himself. _Barbarian. What sort of lewd, salacious animal━_

"Are you… into men?"

If eyes were weapons, Butch would have been a dead man. "Get out of my office. _Now_."

"Hey, I don't judge." Butch stood up and grabbed the clipboard from the desk. "I just thought you deserved a little bit of honesty. Mia is a good kid, you know. "

Anger and rage continued to boil in his stomach, but Oswald remained thoughtfully quiet. For the moment, his resentment was solely for his assistant. The massive, blundering ogre who would torment him given the chance. _Honesty? I can't believe a word you say._ As Butch turned for the exit, Oswald cleared his throat. _What if it were true though? What if I have been unnecessarily hard on her?_ Although the corner of his eye twitched, the manager's voice remained steady. "Tell Mia she can perform next Friday."

"I think she should hear that from you." Butch rapped once on the door frame for good measure and left Oswald to stew in an uncontrollable heated self-affliction.

* * *

A crescendo of trumpets and tambourines signaled the commencement of The Price is Right. Each new contestant screamed with excitement _._ Laying on the couch, Erin stroked the soft grey feline curled up beside her. The elementary school teachers clamored up to their podiums, eager to win new computers or art supplies for their students. _How do they even find these people?_ Erin flipped to the TV Guide Channel for the umpteenth time and scanned the long list of reality courtroom dramas. _Guess I'm watching The Price Is Right._ As Erin approached her third week in exile, the oppressiveness of monotony began to weigh on her mind.

Although her ribs were nearly healed and the gash on her forehead was reduced to an unsightly scab, the obstinate bruises across her face remained dark with yellowing borders. Rather than endure the sympathetic sighs and tedious stares of passersby, Erin chose to stay indoors. Days transitioned into weeks. The apartment appeared to shrink with each passing hour, until only the living room, with its expansive windows and soothing sunlight, was tolerable. _What is the actual retail price for the whole set?_

"Six hundred dollars." Erin answered indifferently. With a groan, the despondent woman suddenly realized that she left her cup of tea on the kitchen counter. _Dammit!_ Tenderly, Erin nudged Professor Lollipop, who stretched and jumped down from the sofa. _The actual retail price is six hundred and thirty dollars!_ Bells heralded the contestant to the stage and motivated Erin to stand up. "And the American capitalists go wild! Raaaaaaah!"

Erin guided her hands along the shimmering granite counters and shuffled into the kitchen. Next to the empty wine rack, hung a palate of fresh sprouted herbs: basil, rosemary, chives, and mint. Leaves and soil littered the floor, evidence of the Professor's most recent caper.

"Really? That's mint, you idiot, not catnip!" Erin reached beneath the sink, grabbed a small hand broom, and gently swept up the inconvenience. Professor Lollipop appeared in the entryway, but arched his back and quickly skittered away. _Guilty conscience?_

After pruning back the indoor herb garden, Erin turned her attention the long-forgotten beverage. A small serving of green tea rested on the kitchen island. With an indifferent sigh, Erin seized the cold ceramic mug and dumped the golden liquid into the stainless steel sink. _Shame. Just a downright shame. I wonder if I could have poured that in my plants._ Warm water gushed from the faucet and onto a sudsy sponge that the woman then used to wash the cup. With added diligence, Erin dried the mug with an absorbent dish towel and placed it gingerly onto the counter. _Shall I try this again? I imagine Mr. Tetch would be cheering me on right about now. Tea time Miss Collins! It's always tea time here!_ Erin stifled a laugh as she filled a bright purple kettle with filtered water. Nearby a single serve coffee machine sat neglected in the corner. Time seemed inexhaustible, so there was no point in rushing the brewing experience. Without a job, Erin found it unnecessary to add caffeine to her routine. With the kettle on the stove, Erin prepared the next cup by drizzling honey around its edges.

A thundering knock at the front door startled her out of apathy. _What? Who could that be?_ Erin narrowed her eyes in contemplation. _Mia has the spare key and I'm not expecting anyone._ Adrenaline surged to her fingertips. Before sliding silently to the door, Erin pulled the small paring knife from a drawer and slipped it into the outer pocket of her plush robe. A masculine voice responded to Mrs. Kepka's torrid screech.

"Ma'am, I assure you—"

"Crooked cops! The lot of you. Hassling that poor young girl. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Curious, Erin peered through the peephole of her front door. The distinguished young officer from weeks prior waited patiently next to the apartment's welcome mat. _What is he doing here?_ For a moment, Erin considered not opening the door. _Nothing good can come from this._ As Mrs. Kepka continued her relentless pestering, Erin began to feel sympathy for the defenseless man. The initial feeling of uneasiness subsided. _If you can't handle her, then you certainly won't stand a chance against me._ Erin unbolted the lock and opened the door a crack.

"Ms. Collins! Good, I am glad your home."

"Refresh my memory. Who are you again?" The question was unnecessary; the occupant vividly remembered her heated interaction with Detective James Gordon.

"He's with the police!" Mrs. Kepka folded her arms and glowered at the officer.

" _Yes._ I am Detective Gordon. I came by a few weeks ago to check up on an incident." James noticed Erin's guarded demeanor. "There are no need for formalities though. I am not actually here on any official business."

"Then why _are_ you here, pig?" Mrs. Kepka practically spit acid.

Erin shook her head and opened the door a bit more, careful not to give Professor Lollipop too much room for an escape. "I can handle this, Margot. Thank you. After all this commotion, I believe I may owe you an extra ride to wherever you want this week." With a huff of disapproval Ms. Kepka begrudgingly slithered back into her flat, but not before spitting superstitiously on the floor near the detective's boots. "I think my neighbor may have just hexed you."

"I can honestly say that worries me a little." James attempted a lighthearted smile. Erin remained quiet and stared at him, waiting for further explanation about his presence. The officer apprehensively clapped his hands together to fill the heavy silence. A sharp whistle warbled from Erin's kitchen. "Did I come at a bad time?" _A bad time? The last time you were here was a bad time. This is just inconvenient._

"No. You're welcome to come in." Erin stepped aside, pushed Professor Lollipop gently away from the entrance with her foot and let James into the flat. She closed the door with a snap and turned toward the kitchen.

"You look good━ I mean, you seem to be healing up well." James fumbled to find the proper words. Following her into the kitchen, the detective cleared his throat. "It occurred to me that, perhaps, I did not handle our first meeting very well." _Is this a recent realization or have you been stewing over this for almost three weeks now? Oooh, that drunk detective put you up to this, didn't he?_ Erin placed a tea bag in her cup and removed the whining kettle from the stove. With a fluid motion, the woman slipped the small paring knife back into the drawer. James stared uncomfortably at Erin's hands. "Were you planning on stabbing me?"

"Please, if I were going to stab you, Detective, you'd be bleeding out by now." James was noticeably taken aback, prompting Erin to defensively flash her palms at him. "It's a joke, relax." _After everything that's happened, I probably shouldn't be making remarks like that._

" _Anyway_ , I thought I should apologize for the way I reacted." James explained.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Erin asked casually. Hot water splashed from the spout into the cup, saturating the tea leaves.

"No, thank you." James looked down at the Scottish Fold rubbing against his ankles. After a moment of silence, Erin lifted the steaming beverage to her lips and breathed in the sweetened perfumed scent.

"So are you actually going to apologize? Or just continue thinking that you ought to?" Erin asked, the final few words increasing with pitch. _Was that too harsh? I really need to consider filtering my honesty._

The officer raised an eyebrow at her, but rather than inciting more conflict he nodded his head. "I am sorry for the way I acted Ms. Collins." Erin had never heard a police officer sincerely apologize before. _Maybe there is hope for this crazy world._ Although the woman did not respond, the tension in the air naturally dissipated. James crouched down and rubbed the cat's chin with his index finger. "This little guy sure is friendly."

"Friendly, but also a handful." Erin commented.

"Apparently, cats can develop the ability to read. My partner told me that." James stood up and smiled. "Harvey is quite the avid reader."

"If a cat can read, doesn't it seem a bit unextraordinary to note that Detective Bullock can as well?" Erin quipped. The detective chuckled under his breath and folded his arms across his chest. Scanning the room, he paused to assess Erin's condition: unbrushed hair, no makeup, and mismatched slippers. Erin attempted to take a sip, but the impatience resulted in a burnt tongue.

"You look like you need to get out of the house. Do you... want to go out for brunch or something?" James asked politely.

Caught off guard, Erin carefully placed the mug on the kitchen island. " _Brunch_." The statement was more contemplative than judgmental. _I could do a quick brunch. Anything to get out of here for awhile._

"Or coffee—"

"Brunch sounds brilliant. Just give me a minute." Erin moved passed him and toward her bedroom.

While James waited patiently in the kitchen, Erin quickly scoured her closet for a presentable outfit. The woman hurriedly pulled on a pink blouse and blue jeans. With added haste, she tied her hair up into a messy bun and slipped on a pair of black flats. Makeup seemed unnecessary for lunch. Rather than spend more time covering her bruises with gobs of liquid foundation, Erin grabbed her oversized designer sunglasses and arranged them to detract from the bruises nearest to her eyes. Within minutes, she returned to James with keys jingling in her hands.

"All set?" James asked.

"Mhm." Erin politely escorted the young detective from her apartment. As the woman closed the door behind her, the spry and agile Professor bounded forward through the gap. Ambitious paws glided effortlessly across the travertine, seemingly unhindered by the laws of friction. His flight to freedom—a race to nowhere in particular—ended before it could truly begin. James stooped down, scooped up the feline, and cradled the fugitive securely against his chest. Impressed, Erin smiled and gently tugged at Professor Lollipop's ears. "Nice reflexes. With skills like that, I imagine that they've found you rather useful in law enforcement."

"Thanks?" James lightly tossed the disappointed cat back into the apartment, closed the door quickly, and then gave Erin room to set the lock. Across the hall, Mrs. Kepka's front door rattled, but remained closed. The pair moved to the elevator and proceeded to the ground floor.

"Pearly's Bistro on Seventeenth is a nice place. Want to check it out?" James suggested. Erin shrugged and walked out of the elevator, through the foyer, and out the glass doors to the sidewalk. "Let's take the squad car." Parallel-parked at the front of the building waited the patrol car. Cautiously, Erin stared at the black and white vehicle.

" _I don't think I've ever been in the front of one of these things before_." Erin whispered hesitantly reaching for the door handle.

"What was that?"

 _Shit, did I say that out loud?_ "Nothing—Nevermind." Shaking her head, Erin hurriedly pulled open the passenger door and climbed into the seat. Light conversation alleviated nearly all of the tension from their earlier encounter. After Erin's tirade on the frequency of erroneous weather reports, James divulged the very best routes to avoid lunchtime traffic. The ten minute ride concluded with a brief discussion regarding the dismal state of the homeless. Remarkably, the two agreed that the mayor ought to designate more funds for aiding the forgotten veterans and the down-on-their-luck panhandlers.

The sidewalk outside Pearly's Bistro was shaded by a line of neatly pruned ash trees. Radiating an exotic air of Parisian elegance, the relatively new business flourished in the heart of Uptown. Upon each patio table rested a floral vase donning fresh violet statice and sunglow freesia. A menu placard to the front of the business showcased the long list of French inspired entrees and desserts. James pulled the entrance door open for Erin, who was too busy enjoying the European atmosphere to spurn the casual paternalistic behavior.

 _Oh, I forgot how much I loved the smell of fresh baked croissants._ The room widened, exposing the ribbed vaulting above; alternating bands of plated gold and crimson paint embellished the foyer. Waitstaff weaved between the tables which were dressed in white linens. At the rear of the bistro, a polished bar separated the patrons from the hustling kitchen staff. Hands pressed deeply into his pockets, James requested a table for two. Cheerfully, the pigeon-chested host ushered the pair across the restaurant and to a vacant table, where he graciously drew out the plush, maroon chair out for Erin. The woman acknowledged the gesture with a nod of gratitude and gently rested back in the seat. An antique chandelier sparkled from the ceiling, speckling the grey carpet with a delicate shimmer. Settled, Erin returned her attention back to the detective.

"Good morning, my name is Thomas and I will be your server. Could I get you started on some drinks?" A man with smooth, olive-toned skin smiled as he approached the table.

"A Bloody Mary for me, please." Erin responded without hesitation.

"I'll just have a water." James folded his hands on the table. As the waiter disappeared with the drink order, the detective shook his head and laughed. "Drinking at eleven in the morning? You and Bullock would get along so well." _You'd be surprised. I drink to make other people interesting. Your partner seems like the type of person who drinks to numb his emotions._ The woman remained silent while she flipped through the small laminated menu. Taking the hint, James followed her example and scanned the long list of breakfast and lunch options. "So, paninis… Do they have those where you are from?"

Slowly laying down the menu, Erin took a moment to study James. His cobalt suit was tightly buttoned and each strand of brown hair upon his head was neatly combed to the side. "Yes. _Hot sandwiches_ are quite popular in Ireland." With a smirk, Erin purposely emphasized a drawl and adopted a dialect that would have offended any resident from the countryside. "Oh Jasus! You shant even have ta venture fa inta town to use tha heat a-generatin' electricity!"

James pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, and chuckled. "My mistake. I thought you were from Ireland, not the Mississippi backcountry."

"Was that an insult?" Erin snorted amused.

"You and your neighbor have been taking punches at me all morning. I'm just trying to play by _your_ rules." After a brief silence, the waiter returned with a Bloody Mary and a glass of water.

"Do you need a few more minutes to look over the menu?" Thomas asked politely.

"No need. I'll have the Croque Madame." Erin folded the menu and handed it to the waiter, who retrieved it after scribbling her order onto a notepad.

"Put me down for the same." James scratched the side of his head and slid his menu to edge of the table. "I'd rather avoid the shame of attempting to pronounce French entrees in the presence of an educated European."

The stalk of celery shifted haphazardly against a mound of ice as Erin picked up her beverage to take a sip; a splash of peppery tomato juice invigorated her tastebuds. Simple and refreshing, the woman reveled in the experience. Subtle hints of sunlight and earth melded together to form a savory aftertaste of serenity. Hidden for too long within her urban fortress, Erin had nearly forgotten the pleasure of dining out. _Mia is right. I really got to get out more. I honestly can't even remember the last time I treated myself._ Erin discreetly studied James, who fidgeted with the napkin folded on his lap. _Some people just can't handle silence._

"So, Arkham. You know I used to work there." _I knew the name sounded familiar: James Gordon. You caused quite a lot of trouble from what I understand._ "From what Harvey told me, the place hasn't changed much." _If you worked at Arkham, why did you feel the need to send your partner?_ "How is the new director handling the hospital's affairs?"

 _The asylum is practically bankrupt. We are severely understaffed. Hugo Strange is a micromanaging, megalomaniac with enormous influence. And, oh right, I was assaulted by a patient and in order to keep my job bowed to bureaucracy. Does Director Marks sound like a capable leader to you?_

"He's managing. It is a tough job to acclimate to." Erin mumbled from behind the celery stalk.

Despite her brevity, James pursued the Arkham topic with renewed vigor. Working at the dangerous and thrilling asylum was a commonality they shared. Unlike the detective, however, Erin preferred not to publicly discuss the hospital's shortcomings or the people under her care. The mentally ill were not freakish oddities or humorous props for comedic relief. Mainstream media already demonized mental illness within popular culture. Monsters and villains did not exist. Politeness prevented Erin from pointing out this fact to James, who appeared all too comfortable sensationalizing the sick and depraved for conversational purposes.

"Then there was the whole Jack Gruber incident." James took a deep breath and shook his head. "That was a mess."

Although Erin had never treated Jack, the man left a permanent impression in her memory. On the morning after his escape from Arkham, Erin received an unexpectedly solemn phone call from the Board: Dr. Gerry Lang was dead. The news was tragic for the future of Arkham Asylum. Dr. Lang was the establishment's only professional administrator; he was a man concerned with the integrity of the field as well as the safety of his patients and staff. The night Jack disappeared the director was murdered and a riot of inmates seized control of the property. For days, the asylum remained inoperative on account of the GCPD's ongoing investigation.

"Gruber was just an alias, you know. His real name was Jack Buchinsky." James continued. "Harvey and I were close to cracking the case, but somehow he managed to evade us. We knew we were in trouble when we found out that he'd tracked down his old electrical equipment. The maniac was making plans to murder Sal Maroni, so we lured him to—"

The waiter appeared and placed the platters in front of the patrons. Between two thick slices of sourdough bread rested folded slices of warm Black Forest ham and Gruyere cheese. Atop the breakfast sandwich perched an egg. A rising sun of yoke settled into place. Laying a napkin down on her lap, Erin thoughtfully dissected her meal with a fork and knife. To her dismay, James continued where he left off.

"Where was I? Right, well, we lured Gruber to the GCPD, where—"

"Not to be rude, but I really don't care to know about all the details. Police work should be on a need to know basis, shouldn't it?"

"Well I… I suppose so. It's just, I always get a lot of people asking me about my business." James responded taken aback. "I assumed that it wouldn't hurt to talk about it since it's all over with."

"It's not really your business though, is it? What happens to other people isn't really your life. The victims—Those criminals even— their friends and family, are the ones who bear the burden. When you solve a case, you're done with it... but they live with guilt and illness for the rest of their lives."

"You're right. Perhaps, something a bit lighter to talk about then." James took a sip of water. He had only barely touched his meal. "Not everything about Arkham was negative. I met my current girlfriend there."

"You go to asylums to pick up women?" Erin rolled her eyes. Noting the smile on her face, James relaxed and broke the yoke on his bread.

"Let me rephrase. She worked there as a medical examiner, now she works at the GCPD with me. Maybe you even knew her? Leslie Thompkins."

Much to her annoyance, Erin was well acquainted with the former physician _._ Leslie was smart, good natured, and light hearted. Despite all the positive attributes, Erin held little respect for her old coworker. In a time when those living beings at the asylum needed her most, Leslie left to dissect corpses. _What good will that do? By the time you become useful, someone is already dead and on a slab. The living are what matter._ Erin, however, was not one to speak ill of others in their absence.

"Everyone on the medical staff at Arkham is quite popular. They are, in many ways, our greatest asset. It's a shame that Dr. Thompkins left before the institution could really get up and running." _It all makes sense now. She left to follow you, I assume? Cliché━_ A high-pitched ringtone shattered the internal judgments tainting Erin's thoughts. James hurriedly reached into his suit jacket, peered at the incoming number, and scooted out from beneath the table.

"Excuse me, I have to take this." Leaving Erin to reflect on her thoughts, James answered the phone and stepped outside to the street.

The young woman breathed a heavy sigh of relief; filtering her words for the sake of civility was exhausting. Erin finished off the remainder of her Bloody Mary and studied the excess food on her plate. Despite the slight inconvenience, the outing had awakened some provocative revelations. Administrative leave was bothersome, but she was not dead like Dr. Lang. The struggle was taxing, but she was persistent. Unlike Leslie, the therapist refused to desert the patients under her care. Taking these factors into consideration, Erin leaned back in the chair and stared up at the chandelier. James returned to the table, but did not sit down.

"I hate to rush out like this, but…" James trailed off before he got ahead of himself. With a gentle, compassionate smile he continued. "I have to go." The brevity of his words said more than any lengthy apology ever could. Rather than lambast his companion with excuses, James remained straightforward, professional, and concise. "If we hurry, I can still give you a lift home."

"No worries." Erin shook her head and smiled back at him. "I'll manage. The fresh air and exercise will do me some good."

Bidding her a final farewell, James disappeared through the bistro doors. Erin stared at his half-eaten meal and then looked down at her own leftovers. With a wave of her hand, the woman caught the attention of the waiter and gestured for a box. After a few moments, Thomas returned with a cardboard container.

"I hope everything was to your satisfaction ma'am." Thomas retrieved the officer's plate and silverware from the table.

"Everything was brilliant. Thanks." Erin packaged her sandwich, tucked the box together, and cleared her throat. "If I could just get the check?"

"Oh, there isn't any need for that." The waiter shook his head. "Your companion already saw to the bill." _Really? Now why would he go and do a thing like that? I thought I made it clear that I had forgiven him already._ Shaking her head, Erin sniffed loudly in an effort not to chuckle to herself. _Some men just become absolutely complaisant in the presence of an independent woman. I suppose that I've no reason to complain though._ Erin stood up, balanced the box in her hands, and exited the restaurant without looking back.

Beyond the barricade of skyscrapers, off in the distance, darkened clouds ominously billowed forward. _Looks like the weatherman was wrong again. The storm will miss Gotham! Yeah right._ A gust of wind swept over the street, causing the loose trash in the gutter to erupt into a grimy flurry of pollution. The preemptive scent of rain permeated the air. Erin moved closer to the line of storefronts, quickened her pace, and headed for home. Warm zephyrs brushed against her face in an attempt to tousle stray hairs free from their secured position. In her peripherals, Erin took notice of a vehicle gradually creeping into the nearby firelane. Instinctively, the young pedestrian clenched her free hand into a fist.

"Ms. Collins!" Leaning into the adjacent seat, James called to Erin from the passenger window of his patrol car. "Get in, I'll give you a lift."

"Wasn't there somewhere you need to be?" Upon hearing the officer's voice, Erin relaxed her defensive stance.

"Yes, but what sort of person abandons a friend at brunch and then expects them to walk home alone in the rain?" _I see what you did there. Friend? Don't get ahead of yourself now._ Swirls of wind caused the tree branches above her head to groan in a belabored agony. _I'd hate to get stuck in this storm though._ Casting a final glance toward the sky, Erin approached the car and quickly settled into the passenger seat. The woman rested the box on her lap, just as a crack of thunder rumbled over the city.

"Thank you, Detective." Erin a grin, James pressed the automated switch and rolled up the window.

* * *

 _THUNK!_ Panels of glass rattled against a wooden frame as old hands pulled the window closed and secured the rusty latch. On the street below, pedestrians scrambled hurriedly toward their destinations. Late summer storms were not to be trifled with, and the clouds in the sky promised a heavy torrent that afternoon.

"It's going to rain." Avidan observed gently.

Half-empty bowls of hash browns and grits nestled next to barren plates that once held pancakes, scrambled eggs, and piles of maple glazed bacon. Excited to talk to his daughter for the first time in nearly three weeks, Avidan had cleared all of his Thursday morning appointments to cook a large brunch. Stuffed, Mia leaned back in the kitchen chair and breathed a sigh of gratification. Despite the ominous howl of wind through the rafters and her father's warning, the young woman was in no rush. _According to the weatherman, the storm is going to just miss us._ Avidan poured another serving of coffee into his daughter's thermal mug before returning the pot to the hot-plate.

"It's a shame your brother couldn't make it today. I can't remember the last time we all got together for a good meal." Taking a seat, Avidan settled back down at the table and popped a chunk of potato into his mouth.

"You and I both know that Themis doesn't get out of bed before noon." Mia snorted, though smiled devilishly as she added a spoonful of sugar to her java. The sibling rivalry was all in good humor.

"Be kind now. Themis works hard and deserves to sleep in occasionally." _Sleep in? Right, because he's actually sleeping and not fucking some hot piece of ass._ "I was talking to Lou the other day and I told him all about _your_ new job. Said he planned on stopping by and catching one of your shows. Nice guy. Older fellow. You'd like him." _UGH! Are you trying that matchmaking crap again? Spare me!_

Emphasizing her disapproval, Mia restlessly tapped her fingers against the tabletop. "Pops, you know how I feel about your boasting. It makes me uncomfortable."

"Why not? He'd be a paying customer after all. A customer is a customer! If you advertise for the business, your boss will appreciate it." Avidan quipped cheerfully. _The last time I did that, it didn't exactly work out for me. I'd rather your clients not know my business anyway. People talk and exaggerate. It's only going to worry you._ Not having the heart to destroy his eagerness, Mia used the sugar spoon to stir her coffee. _Clink, clink, clink._ "It's what proud parents do."

"Aw, well, I can't argue with that now can I?" Mia was too full from the hefty breakfast to pursue the issue further. Rather than argue, the young woman licked her spoon clean and rested it on a vacant napkin. The beverage was hot, but that did not deter Mia from trying to sip down a mouthful of the caffeinated elixir.

"Since we are on the subject, when are you going to invite your family to one of your performances? When I talked to your brother last night, he seemed worried about you." _Themis, I swear to God, if you told dad anything I'll━_ "Are you two fighting?"

Taken aback by the question, Mia shook her head firmly. "What? No! I have just been worried about Erin and busy with work. Themis understands. I'll give him a call later and sort the whole thing out. Really, though, he can be so dramatic." Amused by Mia's reaction, Avidan chuckled and leaned in closer. "And your father? Is he a dramatic, old coot?"

"You're not dramatic, but I'd be a liar if I didn't agree with that _old coot_ statement." With a defeated sigh, Mia twirled her hair around her finger and took another drink of coffee. "Listen, Pops, I will give you and Themis the green light when I feel completely settled in. At the moment, I just have a lot on my mind."

The half-truth was enough to pacify Avidan, who nodded encouragingly. Although Mia had no intention of inviting her father to the nightclub, she was also not sure if she would ever actually make it onto the performance schedule. The noticeable increase in customers was good for business, but Oswald was unpredictable. For days, the nightclub manager blatantly avoided her questions by streamlining conversations and locking himself in his office for hours. Not that it mattered. While Oswald played the role of absentee manager, Mia utilized her time as a waitress to eavesdrop on discussions and hunt for her mark.

"How is Erin holding up?" Avidan asked gently.

"She's practically climbing the walls. That job was her life and now she has nothing to do." Mia finished her beverage and slid the empty cup to the center of the table. "That said, I should probably get back to check up on her." Standing up, Mia stretched and kissed her father on the cheek.

"Alright. Be sure to send her my regards." Avidan escorted his daughter through the apartment, down the stairs, and to the front of the store. Anxiously, the old tailor squinted up at the dark sky. "Do you need change for the bus? Maybe you should stay and wait out the storm."

"Nah. I got it covered. I'll come by again soon." Mia reassured him.

Once on the street, the young woman turned and waved a final goodbye as her father flipped the door sign from _Closed_ to _Open_. The wind and cloud cover were welcomed changes to the previous month's swelter. With a bit of urgency, Mia quickened her step; catching the GAT 75 was always a challenge. Conspiracies circulated that influential elites bribed the bus drivers to purposely neglect poorer residents who appeared to be travelling uptown. There was no proof of a scandal, but for all the times that Mia watched helplessly from the curb as the bus passed by, she recognized the abject possibility that the rumor might be true. After trekking nearly five city blocks, the young woman finally spotted the stop and the swiftly approaching GAT. With only seconds to spare, Mia grabbed hold of the yellow signpost and caught her breath. Gliding effortlessly into place, the bus slowed to a stop and opened its doors. Mia thrust her hands into her pockets for the fare. A heavy weight settled in the pit of Mia's stomach as her fingers traced the edges of a hole; not a single coin remained. Earnestly, she rummaged through her purse, but only scrounged up thirty five cents.

"Are you going to get on or waste my time? Some of us have places to be." The bus driver shouted sharply.

"I only have thirty-five cents, but if I could—" The doors snapped closed, preventing Mia from stating her case any further.

With a groan, the bus pressed forward leaving the woman behind. _Well, there goes that. Guess I'm walking back._ Droplets of moisture fell from the dark sky onto Mia's face. _Oh, no. No, no, no!_ Mia flipped the hood of her jacket up over her head and folded her arms across her chest. Avoiding the bumps and cracks on the sidewalk, she hastened onward with the hope of escaping the impending rain. _Damn your foresight Pops. Why don't I ever listen?_ Soft rain began to patter against the fabric of her jacket. _Maybe I could call Erin._ A crack of thunder heralded a stronger onslaught, which Mia braced herself for by leaning forward. The jacket shielding Mia began to dampen; but almost as suddenly as it began, the rain appeared to cease. Confused, Mia glanced around at the uninterrupted rain and then upward at a familiar black umbrella. Oswald walked beside her, lifting the canopy higher to shelter them both.

"Oh, I—This is unexpected. Thank you." Mia stammered.

"It's no trouble at all. Lucky for you, I come prepared. Where are you walking to?" Oswald explained. The two slowed their pace and squeezed closer together until they were shoulder to shoulder. _Honestly, I kind of thought we weren't on speaking terms after last Friday… what with the way you have been avoiding me and all._

"Woodhollow. It's up near Robinson Park. What are you doing in the neighborhood?"

"My business takes me all over Gotham." Oswald replied vaguely. _I bet his mother still lives around here._ Streams of water poured from the points of the umbrella. Another crack of lightning flashed across the sky, causing many of the remaining passersby to seek sanctuary. "We should get out of the storm. Here—I'll call us a cab."

The pair dodged into a nearby shop, where Oswald pulled down the umbrella and shook off the excess water. The glass storefront of the quaint florist shop, The Bloom Room, reverberated in tandem with the thunder. While Oswald pulled out his cellphone, Mia took the opportunity to explore the establishment. The crimson brick walls contrasted against the light gray concrete floor. Shrubs with broad, flat leaves draped across palates and dangled from the beams supporting the roof. At the far left was a wall of cleverly organized fertilizers, seeds, and vases. Coiled, industrial styled lights swayed from the ceiling. Ivy crawled between the terra cotta planters, accentuating the rainbow of newly cut flowers resting comfortably in vessels of fresh water. Mia smiled and leaned down to smell a cluster of blossoms with golden petals.

"In the Victorian period, the dahlia was a symbol of everlasting union. Only a woman of elegance and dignity could truly appreciate its beauty though." The florist, sporting a violet suit and a periwinkle apron, appeared next to Mia. At first glance, the man with short dark hair seemed familiar to her. The lilac pinned to his lapel complimented his chestnut brown eyes, which were framed by amiable laughter lines.

"They're beautiful." Mia agreed. _Where do I know you from? Oh no. That suit!_ Oswald joined Mia near the arrangements and cleared his throat. "The cab will be here in about ten minutes."

"Really? That's great!" Mia turned to Oswald, laughed uncomfortably, and rubbed her arm nervously. Her employer raised a confused eyebrow, but did not comment on the peculiarity of her behavior. _Fucking fantastic! Please, please, please don't recognize me! And if you do, for the love of God don't mention anything about my job while Oswald is here. I don't want to make up anymore lies._

"You're Avidan's girl, right? Mia. I recognize you from the shop." _Fuck._ The florist smiled and wiped his hands on his apron. His voice was smooth and honeyed, like that of a classic radio personality.

"You two know each other?" Oswald asked, sizing the man up with a calculated stare.

"Only from afar. It is wonderful to finally meet you in the flesh." Without taking his eyes off Mia, the florist shook hands with Oswald. "The name's Louie. Louie Berle." Awkward encounters such as this were the reason why Mia disliked the fact that her father boasted to his clients. Oswald introduced himself, though quickly returned to a defensive stance by tightly gripping his umbrella. "Cobblepot? You are the nightclub owner! Well, isn't that just…" Louie threw his hands in air and clicked his tongue. "You know Mia, your father was just telling me about—"

Hurriedly, Mia pointed at a shrub with ivory white blossoms. "These are so beautiful! What type of flower is this?"

"This? Oh, my dear." Louie chuckled to himself and leaned in closer to her. "Those are my award winning gardenias. While you are waiting, how about I show you around?"

 _Anything to get you not to talk about my nonexistent performances. Please._ Louie led Mia and a noticeably annoyed Oswald through an aisle of thriving flowers. Each species was given a short, but enthusiastic description. From the Greek origins of delphinium to the common uses of the marigold, Louie showered his guests with a plethora of useless knowledge.

"Ah, and the _pussywillow_." Louie picked up a branch dotted with soft gray buds. "This gentle beauty heralded the renewal of spring. It was used as a protection against lightning." As if on cue, a bolt of lightning flashed outside. The thunder set off a cacophony of car alarms. "Supposedly, it also fostered the fertility of man." Gently, Louie flirtatiously brushed Mia's nose with the pussywillow branch, causing her to blush a deep shade of crimson. _This cannot be happening. Why?_

"I, um, well you see—" Mia awkwardly stuttered, struggling between politeness and blatant vulgarity. A resounding crash interrupted the unpleasant interaction and forced Louie to direct his attention away from Mia. Soil and ceramic fragments littered the floor at Oswald's feet.

"Clumsy me. My sincerest apologies." Oswald frowned and moved closer to Mia. Passively, Louie shook his head and stared at the mess in deep thought.

"No worries. It happens more than you'd expect." The florist returned the pussywillow branch to its vase and grabbed a broom from behind the granite counter. Mia glanced at Oswald, who inconspicuously dusted clumps of earth from his hands. _Did he knock that over on purpose?_ With renewed energy, the nightclub owner grabbed his employee's shoulder and pointed to the storefront.

"Our cab is outside. Let's not keep it waiting." Oswald instructed firmly. His grip on her arm tightened as he led her forward, not that Mia needed much prompting. "It was a pleasure, Mr. Berle. Thank you for the educational tour and exceptional hospitality. Do send me a bill for the damages."

Mia remained silent and hurried to the doors, but Louie dropped the broom and rushed out from behind the counter. "There is really no need for any of that, but if you could spare just one more moment." The florist swiftly plucked up three golden dahlias, a sprig of orange ranunculus, several sunny billy buttons, and a branch of dusty miller. Fluidly tying them together with a royal blue ribbon, he presented the bouquet of flowers to Mia with a smile. "Please take these. Consider it a token of _friendship_." _If you weren't so close to my father, I would smack you over the head with this creepy gesture._

"Thanks." Mia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and received the arrangement graciously.

Oswald clenched his jaw and held the door open for his travel companion, who stepped out into the rain. With a flourish, the night club manager opened his umbrella and held the canopy over Mia as she entered the taxi. The bouquet that rested on her lap freshened the cab with a sweet fragrance. Through the rain, Mia watched the florist lean on the door frame and light a cigar. With unexpected force, Oswald slammed the door shut and stowed the wet umbrella between his legs. Mutely, he gestured at Mia to give the driver the address. There was a tension in the backseat that the woman did not entirely understand, but she remained composed. After providing the cabbie with a concise set of directions, Mia leaned back in the seat and addressed her friend.

"I really appreciate all the help getting home. Even if the detour was a bit _uncomfortable_." Oswald rested his arm against the window, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. _Boy, he looks annoyed. Why the hell did you offer to help me then? You inconvenienced yourself, you know._ In an effort to make light of the situation, Mia gestured at the umbrella. "You always carry that thing around. Even when we were kids. Why is that?"

"For days like this. Are you complaining?" Oswald sniffed, but withdrew his hand and opened his eyes to look at her.

"Not at all." Mia picked at the soft branches of dusty miller.

After another moment of silence, Oswald attempted to contribute to the small talk. "Are you prepared for tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"I take it Butch didn't relay the message then." Furrowing his brow, Oswald shifted uncomfortably in the seat and cursed under his breath. "You are performing tomorrow. If you aren't ready I suppose I can arrange for Jackson to play the whole night rather than just half."

"No! I can do it." Mia practically hit the roof of the taxi, jumping up from her seat in excitement. The flowers rolled off her lap and to her feet. "Really. I'll be ready." The explosive reaction initially startled Oswald, but as the woman calmed down he offered up an amused smirk.

"Hopefully you won't stray from your responsibilities this time." Oswald muttered. Mia was not altogether certain that the chastisement was serious, so she nodded apprehensively and returned the flowers back to her lap. The vehicle parked just outside the towering condominiums of Woodhollow Terrace. Critically, Oswald peered out the fogged up window. "Uptown, huh. I don't know how you can possibly afford a place like this on the wages I pay you. A rich boyfriend, perhaps?"

Although Mia found the comment both odd and rather misogynistic, she refused to allow his words to ruin her elated feeling. "Not quite." Mia explained patiently. "I'm just temporarily staying with a friend while she is recovering. Technically, I still live with my father. You could say I bounce around a lot. It's a bit embarrassing really." It was not a lie. In fact, the declaration was one of the truest statements she had shared with Oswald for quite some time.

"Ah." Oswald observed her and then returned his gaze to the rainy street, a sudden silence falling between them. With a firm tone, the nightclub manager ordered the driver to wait, while he escorted Mia around puddles and to the door; the umbrella sheltered them from the torrential downpour. Before opening the door, Oswald asked, "Will you… be alright walking in the rain on your way to work tonight? I cannot imagine that this storm is going to let up. I can have a car sent for you. Perhaps, I can have Butch or Stuart attend to you." Oswald's face flushed after he asked the question, as if he meant for it to come across a different way.

 _Why is he being so weird?_ "My friend can drive me. It shouldn't be an issue." Mia shrugged, but smiled gratefully. "Thank you again for the ride. I'll see you tonight." Grabbing the door handle, Mia entered the building and left Oswald in the rain. Opting to take the stairwell, Mia glanced once more out the paneled glass doors, but the distinguished man had already disappeared. Pulling out her keys, the woman climbed up fifteen flights while brandishing the floral arrangement to keep rhythm with her breaths. Energy surged through her body at the thought of performing. Recklessness urged her to attempt cartwheels down the corridor and to Erin's apartment. Fighting the impulse, Mia settled for spinning wildly before unlocking the door and entering the flat.

"I was just about to call you. The storm had me worried." Erin called from the living room. Gingerly, Mia set her keys down on the end table near the front door, kicked off her shoes, and followed the sound of her friend's voice.

"Everything worked out just fine, I ran into Oswald and he helped me get a ride home." Mia explained. Bolts of electricity flashed across the sky outside, lighting up the darkened living room. "I don't think we are in Kansas anymore, ToTo!" Mia exclaimed and shuffled her feet toward Professor Lollipop, who lazily rolled over in defeat. Playfully, Mia dropped the bouquet of flowers next to the cat. Although the feline made an effort to sniff the flowers from afar, he made no attempt to investigate further.

"What?" Erin asked confused.

" _The Wizard of Oz_?" Mia explained, but noticing Erin's blank face, she shook her head. "Nevermind. It's an American thing."

"I was questioning your interaction with your boss." Erin clarified.

"What is there to say? I missed the bus, he noticed me, and called us a taxi." Exhaustion and excitement melded into a single sensation, prompting Mia to lay down on the floor boards and press her face into the Professor's exposed stomach. From the perspective of the ground, Mia suddenly noticed Erin wearing her shoes. "Aw, you are jealous because you wanted to come rescue me!"

"Why would you think that?" Erin rolled her eyes. _Because you love me, of course._

"You're dressed and have shoes on." Mia pointed out. Unsatisfied with the amount of affection, Professor Lollipop returned to his feet and angled his puckered bottom directly in his assailant's face. "Seriously, now. Erin, your cat is incredibly rude."

Stifling a laugh, Erin leaned forward on the couch and attempted to coax the Professor away from her friend. The pretentious feline cocked his head, but did not move from his position. "I'm dressed, because I went out today. Detective Gordon stopped by to offer his apologies, and then we went out for brunch."

"Detective Gordon showed up here and took you out _on a date_?" Mia pushed the cat from her line of vision and sat up curiously. Irritated, Professor Lollipop's stub twitched before he relocated to Erin's lap.

"No. It wasn't anything like that. We went out for a meal and then he drove me home." Erin clarified, though Mia remained noticeably unconvinced. "Half the time he was busy talking about Bullocks."

"Balls?" Mia scratched the side of her face thoughtfully, but then bursted out in a fit of laughter. "Oh, you meant Detective _Bullock_. That's clever! But, hold on now, did he pay for the meal?"

"Yes, but—"

"That's a date." Mia concluded steadfastly. _I don't know how they do it in Ireland, but here, men only go to brunch with their girlfriends._

"Listen. It wasn't a date." Erin reiterated sternly, petting the Professor's head roughly. "He has a girlfriend and quite honestly, I am really not interested." Despite the lighthearted nature of the conversation, Mia could tell that Erin did not appreciate the mounting immaturity. Redirecting the attention from herself, Erin pointed at the flowers on the floor. "Besides, I am not the one who came home with flowers."

"Oh those? That isn't what it looks like. Those actually came from a florist." Mia returned to her feet and picked up the arrangement of dahlias.

"Most flowers come from a florist." Erin raised an eyebrow.

"Suffice it to say that I skipped the middleman and got them directly from the tasteless source." With a shake of her head, Mia slipped into the kitchen in search of a vase. _No point in letting perfectly good flowers go to waste._ "I do have some good news though. I'm performing tomorrow night." Settling on a small amphora, Mia filled the container with water, removed the ribbon, and arranged the flowers. The Professor appeared in the kitchen, abandoning his master in anticipation of canned tuna or shredded chicken in gravy.

"That's great news!" Erin called from the livingroom. The lights in the apartment flickered in response to a fresh crack of thunder. Unperturbed, the cat rubbed against Mia's legs begging for food.

Sticking her nose in the petals, Mia stole a final sniff before placing them on the counter. "Will you come to the show?"

"Of course." Erin smiled broadly. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Maybe you can bring _Detective Gordon_." Mia taunted playfully, sitting down on the couch beside her friend. The rain drummed against the loft's windows; streams of water trickled down the paneled glass. _Play nice, Mia. You still need a ride to work._

"Sure, I would love to bring a cop to your seedy nightclub. Brilliant idea." Erin snorted sarcastically.

"That was a joke. Geez— Actually, I was thinking that you and Themis could go together. From what I've heard, he's feeling a bit excluded lately." Mia rolled her eyes, picked at her nails, and crossed her legs.

"As long as he behaves himself. I won't tolerate any reckless antics." The caveat was justifiable. Themis was a handful, but Mia still felt obliged to defend her foolish sibling.

"C'mon now. He's not that bad." A feeble exoneration was all the woman could manage on Themis's behalf. After all, there was no use in denying that her brother often played the role of chaotic rabble rouser.

"The last time I saw him, Independence Day weekend, he set off illegal fireworks in a bathroom." Erin pointed out placidly.

"Yeah, but to be fair, he _was_ aiming them out the window." _That sounded bad._ Predictably, Erin was not convinced or comforted by the defense. "Just don't give him any explosives and you'll be fine." Mia continued, then paused before adding, "Or matches... or anything remotely flammable."

* * *

Scraped against the textured ignitor, the red phosphorus tip of the match flared up into a tiny, vibrant blaze. With a steady hand, Edward set fire to a rolled up shred of paper and deposited the burning contents into a conical flask. Nearby, Harvey leaned against the edge of the examining table, where a corpse rested covered by a thin white sheet. Edward gently squeezed a shell-less hardboiled egg between his fingers, then set the ovum carefully onto the open neck of a glass bottle. The peculiar man pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, stood to the side, and folded his arms across his chest to observe his experiment. Influenced by the atmospheric pressure, the flask voraciously sucked down the egg.

"You've got to be kidding me." Harvey stood up, certain that the forensic scientist had tricked him in some way. He picked up the glass container and stared at Edward's former lunch snack in disbelief. "Magic?"

"Not quite. Gravity, you see, isn't sufficient enough to pull the egg inside the bottle on its own, so we changed the temperature of the air inside the bottle, thereby adjusting the pressure of—" Edward explained excitedly, but Harvey was not about to let him get carried away with facts and figures.

"Spare me the details." The detective reached into his pocket and pulled out a ten dollar bill from his wallet. "I should have known better than to place a wager against you. If it's something freaky, bet double on geeky. Am I right?"

Without hesitation, Edward plucked the bill from Harvey's grasp and flashed a smile. After years of working at the GCPD, the young scientist was practically impervious to insults and backhanded compliments. Bitter officers tried their best to humiliate him on a regular basis. Intelligence, however, was power. When it mattered, strength would bow to wisdom, granting Edward the upper hand.

"Oh!" Harvey slapped a hand to his forehead and laughed. "I get it now. That's how they get the little ships into those bottles. Damn! They should really be teaching all this science crap to kids."

"Uh, well…" Edward blinked uncomfortably, unsure of how to approach the turn in conversation. Correcting Harvey was a slippery slope that often led to confrontation. Much to Edward's relief, a soaking wet James entered the forensic laboratory to alleviate the situation. The young officer slipped off his blazer and hung it on an apparel hook to dry.

"Where the hell have you been? Swimming?" Harvey remarked with a subdued chuckle. Before James could respond, his partner abruptly shook the flask at the new arrival. "Nevermind. I don't really care. But this—Look at this egg! Can you believe it?"

Uncertain of the events preceding his entrance, James stared distractedly at the contents within the bottle. Unable to comment on the object or his partner's eagerness, the confused officer chose instead to greet Edward with a friendly clap on the shoulder. "What do you have for us today, Ed? Help us get moving in the right direction."

"Right. Yes. Well, I went over the data Dr. Friitawa sent me and cross-checked it with what we already knew. It's really all quite remarkable. Did you know that only a single male in a herd of giraffes gets to impregnate the females? It's almost always the one with the _longest_ neck. The rest of the time, the males just have coitus with one another." Edward explained excitedly as he reached for a manila envelope on the counter. The two officers exchanged uncomfortable glances with one another, before James cleared his throat.

"And this is relevant... how exactly?"

"Oh, it's not. I read Dr. Friitawa's book this morning: _Bastard Wing, Offspring._ It was absolutely riveting! You must—" The forensic scientist suddenly realized that his excitement was misplaced. Edward shook his head and opened the file to reveal a series of incomprehensible charts. "Most of our combined findings were inconclusive. Isn't it wonderful though? To have all the numbers, all the data, and still have no answer? Absolutely tantalizing!"

"No. That isn't _wonderful_ , Ed. We have been sitting on this case for far too long. No witnesses. No leads." James frowned, while Harvey silently continued to swirl the hard boiled egg around its chamber.

"Fret not, Dectective! There is some good news. I have a theory about the exsanguination." Despite his forthcoming descriptions of mammalian reproduction, Edward waited patiently for someone to ask about his personal thoughts.

" _And that is?_ " James pressed, slightly frustrated.

"El Chupacabra." The thin, lanky man puffed up eagerly when he noticed the befuddled expression glossing over their faces. Shuffling through another stack of paperwork, Edward pulled out a printed sheet of paper and handed it to James. Finally interested enough to join the conversation, Harvey peered over his partner's shoulder and then returned his attention to the scientist.

"Okay, I know I joke a lot, but I know for a _fact_ that wasn't English." Harvey snorted.

"Literally translated, The Goat Sucker, is a legendary cryptid rumored to inhabit the Americas. From Puerto Rico through Appalachia, it has attacked all sorts of livestock draining the blood completely from the corpses. Cryptozoologists are currently attempting to record all known occurrences, but as you can imagine, the majority of them turn out to be hoaxes."

Crouched in an aggressive stance, an anthropomorphic monster stood rigidly upon two scaly legs. Osseous spikes trailed down the creature's humped back and to the tip of its reptilian tail. Piercing red eyes with slits for pupils stared up from the paper. The dark forested backdrop contrasted significantly with the pasty, limp goat at the cryptid's clawed feet.

"Do you mean to tell me, that you've been up here with all your science for weeks and the best you came up with is a vampire kangaroo?" Harvey placed the flask onto the counter, folded his arms, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "What's the price of garlic nowadays?"

"Your gun should suffice detective. I can't imagine garlic would do any good against—"

"Ed, surely there must be another explanation! This… This looks like something out of science fiction." James scrutinized the drawing and traced the printed caption with his finger.  
 _Se necesita sangre para sobrevivir._

"I ran the bite marks through a series of dental records supplied from biologists from around the country, but both Dr. Friitawa and myself came up empty. We managed to receive trace evidence of DNA matching sequences in several different animals. If it isn't El Chupacabra, then someone went through a lot of effort to leave evidence that reflected such." Edward explained with a thoughtful look toward the computer at the back of the room.

"This is absurd. We should be chasing a murderer, not some _myth_. Were there any leads on the gun?" James inquired hopefully.

"Ballistics indicate that the bullet was your standard nine millimeter." Turning back to the counter, Edward pulled out a plastic evidence bag containing the enigmatic bullet.

"That really narrows it down." Harvey sarcastically coughed. The older officer shuffled forward, snatched the plastic bag from Edward, and scrutinized the contents. "Who is to say the creature and the gun are even connected? This poor shlub was probably trying to score in the park, got popped, and some chimichanga came to reap the rewards."

"Chupacabra." Edward corrected patiently. "That IS a possibility though. There aren't any legitimized observations of the cryptid's hunting or feeding patterns. A corpse may actually provide an easy meal for an urban monster."

Sighing in defeat, James grabbed the evidence from Harvey and returned it to the silver evidence tray along with the grotesque depiction of the creature. "When you called me an hour ago, you said there was a new lead in the case. Could you elaborate on that? Have we managed to ID the victim? Give me something I can work with, Ed." As Edward opened his mouth to reply, his answer was cut short by an excitedly, passionate feminine voice.

"His name is Grover Wash." Leslie Thompkins stood in the open doorway, her white lab coat dusting her ankles as she moved a fraction closer to the conversation. Her smooth alabaster skin glowed flawlessly under the humming fluorescent lamps. The affectionate smile Leslie cast toward James caused the officer to glance bashfully at the floor. In an attempt to soothe him, the young doctor put a delicate hand on his firm shoulder. "After a lengthy investigation, we managed to crack the case open this morning."

"Investigation?" James asked cautiously.

"On a whim, we thought to run a photograph of the victim's face through the Missing Person's database again. Apparently, his wife called in a report yesterday. I couldn't reach her on the phone, so Edward and I took a short ride to the address listed in the file. It was right around the block. Mrs. Wash is a lovely woman, really. You see, she assumed her husband had been out on the town with his favorite call girl for the last few weeks. Apparently, it was common for Grover to go missing for days—or even weeks at a time."

The bashful tint of scarlet burning James's cheekbones suddenly flushed to a deeper shade of irritation. "You tracked down his spouse and talked with her _in person_?" Anxiously, Edward edged his way closer to Harvey, noticing the onset of a couple's' quarrel. Despite her boyfriend's reaction, Leslie's enthusiasm did not waver in the slightest.

"Right, well, that really isn't the important part of all of it." Leslie tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "We asked if—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! The wife probably killed the poor bastard. I mean, it wouldn't be the first time we saw a crime of lusty heated passion. Did you notice any signs of a churm… chi… chinchilla?" Harvey looked at Edward for help with the correct pronunciation.

"Chup-a-ca-bra." The forensic scientist repeated slowly for Harvey's benefit.

"No… and no. Despite his infidelity, she seemed genuinely upset over the whole ordeal." Leslie pulled a tattered, old flyer from inside her lab coat. "Mrs. Wash also mentioned that her husband was a recovering gambling addict, who owed a lot of money to the wrong people. According to her, he was regularly attending group meetings, but she couldn't tell us much else. In his personal effects, we found this flyer. If he was indeed seeking counsel, the other members of this group might have more answers."

Bordering on anger and desperation, James finally snapped. "Lee, we've talked about this. You can't be out on the streets gathering evidence and talking to witnesses. It's dangerous! What if this woman actually murdered her husband? You aren't the best judge of character. You could easily have walked into a trap."

"Edward was with me." Leslie folded her arms across her chest and blew a strand of dark hair out her brown eyes. The statement goaded the room's gleeful spectator, Harvey, into an insensitive fit of chuckles; after all, an unarmed brainiac was not exactly a formidable bodyguard.

"Your actions may have alerted our murder suspect! And what if this flyer is vital evidence? No judge will approve it under these circumstances. You've jeopardized our investigation. I should—I should report this to the Captain." Prying the flyer from her fingers, James studied the document with a frown. _GAG: Gothamites Against Gambling. Anonymous. Meets at 10:00 pm. Last Tuesday of Each Month. 111 SW 4th Street._ Noticeably upset by her lover's response, Leslie turned away from James to hide her disappointment. Staring up at the ceiling, James softened his voice before continuing, "The next time you get a lead, please just let the professionals handle it."

"Oh man, he's going to get reamed for that later." Harvey whispered to Edward.

Allowing the brief confrontation to momentarily dissipate, Leslie raised an eyebrow and cleared her throat. "As you wish, Detective Gordon." The medical examiner adjusted her lab coat and tightly gripped the cold steel table. "One more thing... unless you want to figure it out for yourself that is?"

"By all means, you've taken us this far." James sniffed with a forced smile.

"The organization, GAG, doesn't seem to exist. I couldn't find a single record on the internet or in our systems about it. Even stranger, the address on the flyer is for an abandoned warehouse. The property has been empty for decades."

"I suppose we will have to show up for that meeting then." James mumbled thoughtfully turning the flyer over for further inspection.

"A kinky little meet and greet with the GAG squad and a bloodthirsty beast. Sounds like a real blast. Can't wait." To reassure himself, Harvey patted the gun at his side. "Murderers are tricky, but chupalingas? We got this."

"Chupacabra." Edward corrected timidly once more. After a tense moment of silence, James grabbed his damp blazer from the coat rack and folded it over his arm.

"Alright then. If that covers it, then it looks like Harv and I should meet with the widow before she comes to claim the body. We need to make sure she is thoroughly vetted, otherwise we might end up in some hot water."

The comment appeared to be for the whole room, but all eyes rested on Leslie. Rather than offer a curt reply, the medical examiner shrugged and patted the thigh of the covered corpse. Keeping true to his staunch professionalism, James exited without sparing even a second glance at his romantic companion. Trailing behind, Harvey wordlessly tipped his hat to his comrades before following his partner into the bustling hallway.

"Has anyone ever told you, that you lack a certain set of people skills?" Harvey interjected bluntly.

"Trust me, I have been made aware of that on multiple occasions." With a heavy sigh, James descended a marbled staircase and entered the GCPD's central atrium. Telephones chimed relentlessly to the beat of fingers typing upon keyboards. Rookie cops filed paperwork for the senior officers, while an unpaid intern passed out styrofoam cups filled to the brim with fresh coffee. "I may be a bit harsh at times, but I have a lot on my plate. We haven't made much progress on any of our cases. So, if you don't mind, I'd prefer to focus on my job rather than my personality."

"It's good to hear you say that, Jim. I can always count on you to follow through on your commitments." Sarah Essen, the Captain of the GCPD's Homicide Division, approached the two officers and thumbed through a stack of numbered folders. Thick black curls brushed against the top of shoulders as she searched for a particular record of interest. "That being said, I was concerned when I found out that neither of you submitted any paperwork to me over the last few weeks. Care to explain? And while you are at it," Sarah finally pulled a thin file out and brandished it aggressively at the detectives. "Can one of you elaborate as to why you are looking into an assault case? Collins, E. Case 435? I'm sure that you are aware of the fact that there is a whole other division that oversees that sort of thing."

"We thought there might be more to that ordeal, but the evidence didn't amount to much." Harvey lied casually, directing attention away from his noticeably uncomfortable partner.

"Whatever your reasons, I need you two to close out this nonsense and focus your efforts on homicide crimes. Are we clear?"

"Crystal." Harvey winked pleasantly.

Though fierce by nature, the Captain's good humor returned with a grin. "Grab some coffee and get to it then! Am I paying you to just stand around?"

"No, but I am almost positive you hired me for my good looks and carefree demeanor!" Harvey grabbed his partner's arm, herding him away from the Captain and gradually toward the exit.

Pushing passed the heavy glass doors, the pair of detectives paused tentatively beneath the awning to assess their course of action. Streams of rainwater cascaded from the overhang onto the sidewalk. Tiny rivers carried plastic waste and urban debris down the street toward sewer drains.

"I probably should have brought Collins to the precinct with me after our lunch." James chided himself. "It would have saved a lot of time."

"You had lunch with…" The words slowly manifested within Harvey's understanding. Slightly offended at having been excluded, the officer pulled out his flip phone and clicked through his contacts. "Why on earth did you have lunch with Collins?"

"I wanted to apologize." James suddenly realized that Harvey's reaction stemmed from a malignant form of jealousy. "When I offered her lunch, I didn't actually expect for her to agree to it! It was a gesture of good faith. That's all." His partner remained silent, scrolling through a list of glowing numbers. "What are you doing, Harv?"

"I'm just going to call Collins. We need her to come down to the station, don't we? I'll set up an appointment with her." Although Harvey remained nonchalant, the tone of his words reflected embittered contempt.

"Try not to harass her over the phone." James advised cautiously.

"Harass? I would never!"

* * *

 _Fourth missed message: Hello Ms. Collins. Dr. Collins? That whole system always confused me. Anyway, it's Detective Bullock… Again. I have that file here at the station. It requires your signature for final processing. It'd be great to see you again too. Uh, yeah, I guess I shouldn't leave that on a message. Crap. How do you erase these stupid things? Jim! — To replay, press four. To delete this message, press seven._ A coral pink acrylic nail lightly tapped the seven located on the touchscreen number pad of the smartphone. With a heavy sigh, Erin turned off her phone, slipped it into her purse, and knocked on the door. _I am not looking forward to visiting a police station. Maybe, if I keep ignoring the call, they will forget all about it._ No response. _Themis leaves the door open, so you can just walk right in._ Remembering Mia's advice, Erin tried the door handle, which opened with ease. Closing the door behind her, Erin covered her eyes instinctively when she noticed Themis's half-naked form lingering in the hallway; only a royal blue towel wrapped around his waist concealing his privates. Using a small hand cloth to rub his wet hair dry, he welcome his guest with a pleasant grin.

"Seriously? You aren't ready yet?" Erin muttered, tossing her purse on the couch. _Honestly, I am not the least bit surprised._

"In my defense, you're early." Themis laughed.

"Actually, I'm right on time. Could you… get some clothes on." Erin folded her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"Right— Sorry. I'll never understand you Irish Catholics and your virtues. Prudence! Who needs that?" Themis dramatically waved the small cloth at the ceiling.

"It's not so much religion, as it is about seeing the knob of your best friend's brother. But, I suppose it wouldn't matter, I'd need a magnifying glass to actually see it." Erin retorted. With a malevolent grin plastered across his face, Themis slowly moved to open his towel. "Spare me the proof, please. I'd rather not be able to identify your penis out of a lineup."

"One day you may have to. I've been known to get pretty rowdy." Themis returned to the inner sanctums of his room.

While the man shuffled around the adjacent room searching for an outfit, Erin explored the spacious flat. Pausing at a mirror, Erin frowned at her reflection. The bruises caused her cheeks to appear swollen and jaundiced. Her attempt to skillfully mask the marks with makeup only frustrated her to a point of apathy. Working with her hair had also been a disaster. Only half curled, Erin's hair frizzed in response to the late summer humidity. Giving up altogether, Erin secretly hoped that her busty black dress would excuse the underwhelming state of her unfinished head. Hanging on the farthest wall, several black and white photographs attracted her attention. A homeless veteran in a wheelchair attempting to overcome a city curb near a ramshackle soup kitchen. A woman, suffering the later stages of addiction, brandished a needle at a police officer as he tried to arrest her. A drag queen led an upper-class patron into a dirty alleyway. _These really are provoking images. I thought Themis was following the Penthouse game._

"Did you take all of these?" Erin called out. With a shirt over his shoulder, Themis reappeared zipping up his skinny jeans. Whipping the stray strands of wet hair from his eyes, the man viewed the photographs.

"Yeah. Years ago. I don't do much work like that anymore. No money in it." Themis pulled on the white shirt. "Besides, the work was dangerous. After Delilah I just… didn't want to follow that part of Gotham anymore."

"I can understand that." Erin sympathized. _You may have left the streets, but Mia is a whole other story._ "Are you ready?" Rolling his eyes, Themis grabbed his wallet and moved for the door.

"Quit rushing me." Themis held the front door open for Erin, who sauntered out. "You know, those bruises are healing up nicely. You could be model, if you smiled more and actually committed curling your hair." _Thanks for the compliment and the insult. How many women have you gotten with that line?_

"I'd rather be recognized for my intelligence, thank you. Unlike beauty, brilliance doesn't fade." Erin replied harshly. As Themis headed for the stairwell, his companion cleared her throat. "Are you going to lock your door?"

"Ah right— Right! Bad habits die hard." Themis bounded back to his apartment and bolted the door. "I was thinking that we could take the old Ironhead for a spin."

"No, we'll take my car." Erin responded simply. Side by side, the pair began the short journey downstairs.

Themis cast his palms up in defense. "I just thought—"

"We're not taking a motorcycle to a club." _Especially since you will be drinking._

 _"_ Don't get your panties in a bunch now. It's not like it'd mess up your hair. Seriously though, are you blind?" Themis smirked. Erin did not respond, rather, she led Themis to her car, where she patiently listened to his latest conquests and midnight rendezvous. Focused on driving, Erin ignored his standard chauvinist discourse, concentrating instead on the darkening clouds forming in the sky above. _Great. More rain._

"Can you believe Mia is still going through with this?" Knowing Themis's stance on the matter, Erin had been expecting a similar question to arise at some point in the evening.

"You know as well as I do that you can't tell her what to do." Erin pointed out, flipping her turn signal on to avoid colliding with a neon construction cone. Despite her neutral stance on the matter, Themis continued to pursue the topic. Fearing that his sister would get caught up in a bad crowd, he began to rattle off the types of patrons that frequented downtown clubs: drug addicts, gangsters, pimps, hobgoblins. According to Themis, Gotham was a hard city filled with people who would take advantage of a young naive girl like his sister.

"Isn't your responsibility as a therapist to talk her out of shit like this?" Themis pointed out.

"I don't tell people what to do." _But maybe if I had, I'd still have a job. "_ You are one to talk. Isn't your industry based in the exploitation of the female form?" Erin growled. Themis smiled thoughtfully out the window, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"That's different. I don't expect a man hating feminist like you to understand." The comment was meant as a joke, but forced Erin tense with a seething type of irritation. "I empower women. I help them find the beauty within themselves. When they are in front of my camera, they aren't shy, vulnerable ducklings. They become free, adventurous nymphs." Themis made an obscene gesture with his hands.

"You disgust me."

"Fine. Fine. Let's change the subject." Themis scratched the side of his face, searching for a less frustrating topic. "Seeing anyone?"

"No." Erin stared at the street, her mind flickered to James for a moment, but then retracted.

"That's a shame. I'm single now. Broke up with Cynthia at her parents' house. Boy she was mad. I mean, come on. Since when is meeting a girl's parents been considered taking it to the next level anyway?" Themis kicked his feet up onto the dashboard. "Since we are both single, we could—"

"Don't even say it." Erin warned. "In fact, I am revoking your speaking privileges. If you so much as utter a single word, I am dropping you off and you can walk the rest of the way. And get your feet off my dash." Themis tucked his legs back down to the floor and leaned his seat all the way back, a mischievous grin still radiating from his face. The silence was short lived, as Erin parallel parked her car. The pair walked up the sidewalk toward a long line. _Looks like business is picking up. Mia's plan must have worked._ Patiently, Erin listened to Themis ramble about the old days, meeting up with friends in bars and picking up chicks. It took all of her energy to tune him out. They waited in line for nearly twenty minutes, before coming into sight of the hefty bouncer guarding the entrance.

"I'm a bit nervous about this." Themis admitted offhandedly.

"Performance issues?" Erin asked casually. Themis shot her a dirty look, but he lowered his voice.

" _Real empathic_. Who issued you your license again?"

"Why are you nervous?" Erin repeated, feigning sincerity.

"When I was younger, a group of guys and I used to rag on the punk who owns this joint. I don't want to cause any issues for Mia, you know? Do you think he'll remember me?"

"Perhaps this is a good opportunity for you two to reconcile your differences." Erin explained.

"How about, if you see a weirdo with a gimp, you nudge me in the ribs and I will duck and cover?" Themis suggested pleasantly. Before Erin could respond, Themis pressed her forward toward the bouncer. "We're here for the show. You guys are really packing the house tonight, huh?" Themis observed cheerfully to the bouncer, who raised an eyebrow.

"Right. We are real busy. No offense, but the club has a certain image to maintain. You can't be beating up on your girl, then really expect me to let you both in. We don't cater to the rough type of crowd. I am sure you get it." The bouncer nodded toward Erin.

"Oh geez, I didn't—You don't think—" Themis shook his head, but Erin interrupted.

"You think _he_ did this to me? Really?" Erin narrowed her eyes. _What part of my exterior gives away the battered woman vibe? And even still, THAT is how you choose to handle it?_ "How about me and you go toe to toe? I'll show you who'll end up looking worse!"

"Sheesh, lady, dial it back will you? Whatever the story, I am still not letting you in looking all... _jacked up_." The bouncer explained.

"You are absolutely right." Themis pulled Erin to the side, before she could snap another insult at him. "Just give us a moment to sort this out."

"What are you doing?" Erin muttered.

"Just relax and trust me." Themis ran a hand through her hair, adjusted the part in her hair, showcasing the curls she had managed to finish. _You can't be serious._ He fleshed the curls out, giving more volume to her hair. Holding a finger up to Erin, Themis approached a nearby girl in line and humby rubbed the back of his neck.

"Excuse me? Hey." The young man smiled at the girl and her friends, feigning a look of embarrassment and humility. _Gross._ "Let me just start off by saying you look absolutely beautiful tonight." The girl closest to him blushed beet red as her friends cackled with delight. "Now, I don't want you to think I am hitting on you… I mean, unless of course this is working?" Fighting off the distraction, Themis shook his head allowing his hair falling into his eyes.

"It might be." The woman responded shyly, casting her gaze toward his shoes.

"Good to know." Themis causally leaned against the brick wall. "Before I get to all that, I was hoping perhaps you and your friends might be able to help me." The group exchanged suspicious glances, but no one appeared entirely disturbed by the condition. _Was that an innuendo?_ "My poor sister over there," Themis gestured at Erin, who awkwardly stared back at the young women, "needs a bit of a touch up in order to get into the club. Could we borrow any spare makeup you guys might have on you?"

"I-I don't know." The timid brunette fidgeted uncomfortably.

"How about I sweeten the deal, and I'll buy you and your friends a round of drinks?" The boldest friend reached down into her purse and retrieved a tube of foundation, an eyeliner pencil, and a compact mirror.

"Jessica! What are you doing?" The brunette whispered in shock.

"What? He's cute and offering us drinks. If you don't jump on that, I will." The girl named Jessica replied boldly. A bit impressed by the forwardness of her advance, Themis graciously received the makeup from her with a flirtatious smile.

"Thanks, Jess. You're a doll. I'll see you all inside." Themis returned to Erin and dabbed some foundation onto his thumb. "Now, come here."

"You are revolting. You practically used me in a scheme to get laid." Erin chastised.

"Jealous much? Say the word, sweetheart, and I can be all yours."

"You are not putting that on my face. It's not even my tone." Erin growled.

"Do you want to get in or not? God. It's like putting makeup on a badger." Before she could argue further, Themis captured her face in his hands and gently brushed the neutral color over her bruises. Tenderly, he caressed her jawline and effortlessly concealed the darkest portions of her injury. "Close your eyes."

"I don't know if I can trust you." Erin stated flatly.

"Those girls think you are my sister. If I kissed you now, I would lose all hope in ever getting laid again in this part of town." The argument proceeded to convince Erin, who closed her eyes while Themis tsked his tongue and darkened her eyelids with the eyeliner. "Now chew on your lips."

"This is never going to work."

"I'm a professional photographer.. I know makeup better than most women." Prying open the compact mirror, Themis flashed Erin her reflection. _I am judging you right now. Damn though. I do look a lot better._ Themis wrapped his arm around Erin's shoulder and guided her toward the door. As Jessica and her friends entered Oswald's, Themis coyly handed her makeup back with winked and turned to address the bouncer. "Alright, what do you think boss?"

"You again?" The bouncer did not find Themis's attitude charming, but rather exhausting.

"She's pretty hot now. No bruises. Sexy tussle?"

The bouncer looked Erin over, until his gaze rested on her cleavage. "Yeah, I guess. I have a feeling the two of you are trouble though. You better keep it low key in there, you hear?"

"Yessir. Of course sir. No trouble sir." Themis smiled leading her passed the doorway and into the club.

"Maybe I could buy you a drink later." The bouncer joked after them. Erin stared at him blankly, biting her tongue. _Fuck you, prick._

Once inside, Themis planted an obnoxious kiss on Erin's cheek and twirled her around. Erin rubbed her face with a mild irritation, but the man's attitude had an uncanny way of being occasionally heartwarming. Contagious even. A wild spark of confidence pumped through the woman's veins.

"Thanks Themis."

"Oh, no worries. You can pay me back by buying me a few drinks." Themis rubbed his chin and walked toward the bar.

"That's actually a relatively mild request coming from you." Erin laughed.

"How about, instead of drinks, we have a quickie in the bathroom then?" Themis suggested.

Erin rolled her eyes. "No. Drinks. Order what you want."

"Psh. Fine. Four cosmos."Themis requested from the bartender.

"Four? That's a pretty bold choice for a man." Erin sat down on a stool.

"I agree." Themis winked. "If you could have a waiter bring them to that table in the back where Jess and her friends are sitting, that would be great." Themis patted her on the shoulder lightly. "I'll be back. I want to make sure our friends get their _reward_." Themis drifted away from Erin, who sat alone at the bar. _The real reward, would be you leaving them alone to enjoy their night out._

"If I came with you, I wouldn't have let you outta my sight." A man sat down next to her, with a wild-eyed grin.

"Well, it's good I didn't come with you then." Erin shot the stranger down firmly by moving her seat further down the bar. "Could I get an Old Fashioned, please?" The nearby bartender nodded and began to clean a glass for his patron.

* * *

It only took a moment for the skilled bartender to prepare the Tom Collins and slide it across the bar toward Oswald. Unlike all the other men at the counter, the manager did not have to wait for service. The privilege was more gratifying now that the club was packed with patrons. Lesser mortals suffered the inconvenience, while Oswald savored the distinguished taste of prestige. With an air of delicacy, the young man removed the lemon wedge garnishing his glass and placed it on a napkin. _The way you wear your hat. The way you sip your tea. The memory of all that. No, no, they can't take that away from me._

Screamin' Fingers Jackson strummed his Stratocaster alongside Mia, who held tightly onto the microphone stand. The two musicians collaborated to perform a jazzy, duet rendition of Billie Holiday's _They Can't Take That Away From Me._ Oswald plucked the Bing cherry out by the stem and studied it. Nonchalantly, the manager traced the fruit across the surface layer of ice. _The way your smile just beams. The way you sing off key. The way you haunt my dreams. Oh, no, darling they can't take that away from me_! From the shadowy corner, Oswald watched the performers critically.

Locks of Mia's copper hair were pinned up by a fresh yellow dahlia. The flower perched neatly above her right ear, allowing the rest of her hair to drape over her shoulder. Darkened eyelashes elegantly complimented her smouldering smokey eyes. Her lips were painted a deep crimson, which contrasted radiantly against her pale skin. Oswald popped the cherry into his mouth and ripped the stem free with his teeth. The white dress with black polka dots swayed just above her knees. The manager could not recall if he had ever seen her wear such a flattering outfit. _We may never, never meet again. On the bumpy road to love. Still I'll always, always keep the memory of…_  
Unpalatable and bitter, Oswald crushed the cherry pit between his molars. Inwardly, he hoped that the negligible amount of cyanide would end the relentless torment clouding his judgement. Butch's comment about the woman's motives preoccupied his thoughts. Was Mia really trying to impress him? How could Gilzean possibly know more about the way she worked than he did? Slightly irritated, Oswald downed the first half of his citrusy drink. As Mia smiled out at the crowd and then back toward Jackson, the nightclub manager wondered if his presence at the event even mattered.

 _The way you hold your knife. The way we danced 'til three. The way you've changed my life. No, no they can't take that away from me. They can't take that away from me._ Oswald forced his gaze away, taking a moment to inspect the quality of his glass. A single water-spot near the rim repulsed him, motivating him to place the beverage back on the bar.

"Is everything alright, sir?" The bartender asked nervously.

"There is a mark on this glass. Imperfection is reprehensible and I will not tolerate it." Although the words were acrid, the manager remained composed.

"You are absolutely right, Mr. Cobblepot. I will have a talk with Stuart about it."

"No need. I will attend to Stuart." Oswald rapped his fingers on the counter, in rhythm with the accompanying piano. "Know where I can find him?"

With noticeable hesitation, the bartender swallowed before answering honestly. "I thought I saw him head to the back of house a few minutes ago. The kid has been crazy busy tonight."

"Thank you, Jay. I'll be sure to keep that in mind." Oswald stood up and smoothed down his lapels.

Meandering around the young, energetic souls eager for good drink and entertainment, the manager left the repentant bartender to consider the act of betrayal. With his hands in his pockets, Oswald shuffled into the kitchen searching for the busboy. The music hummed faintly from beyond the heavy swinging doors until the voices were practically indistinguishable. A sense of reprieve rushed over Oswald as Mia faded from his mind. Punishing Stuart for shoddy work was his primary concern—a task Oswald planned to enjoy to the fullest extent. The busboy meticulously loaded the dishwasher, taking care to organize the tableware for maximum sanitation.

Unfastening a silver cuff link from his jacket, Oswald approached the massive stainless steel sink. "Good evening, Stuart." Reflexively, the boy flinched and turned to face his boss. "We need to have a conversation about your efficiency." With a fluid motion, Oswald dropped his cuff link down the garbage disposal.

"Uh, um— S-sir, why did you—"

"Gosh-darn." Oswald feigned disappointment. "I seem to have dropped my cuff link down the sink. Would you be so kind as to retrieve it for me?"

Anxiously, Stuart wringed his hands and stared at the sink. "I'll g-get right on it, sir. I seem to remember seeing some pliers in the maintenance closet."

"Nonsense. Just reach down there and pull it out. No need for tools." Oswald urged pleasantly. The manager leaned against the sink counter and stroked the switch on the wall. _Mankind's strongest emotion is fear and the most intense kind of fear... is fear of the unknown. Will he flip the switch and mince the poor boy's fingers?_ Stuart swallowed nervously, but slowly approached the sink and peered into the hungry void. Timidly, the busboy rolled up his sleeve and reached his hand down the disposal. "I found a water spot on my glass tonight. How many other unseemly oversights have you made within the last few hours?"

Not taking his frightened eyes off of the manager, Stuart lightly felt around for the cuff link. "I-I don't know, sir."

Without the slightest bit of warning, Oswald flipped the switch to the garbage disposal. The gyrating blades scraped against one another with a metallic growl, but jammed within seconds. Stuart yelped and violently stumbled backward. The silver cuff link obstructing the gears triggered the appliance's built in emergency feature, causing the disposal to fall silent. Expecting more mutilation, Oswald was disappointed to see that only the very tips of the boy's fingers were bleeding. Shuffling away from the nightclub manager, Stuart wrapped his right hand in his dirty apron. Glistening droplets of blood, however, sprinkled the sink and adjacent counter. Oswald grabbed Stuart by his collar, lifted him from the floor, and pulled him across the kitchen.

"N-no! I-I j-just—Please! I'm sorry!" Stuart struggled to pry himself free of Oswald's grasp. Despite his fiercest attempt, the young busboy was much too small to win the fight against his boss. Several of the kitchen staff paused to watch, but no one dared to interrupt the violence.

"Just think of this as a learning experience. I can guarantee, that after this is over, I won't ever find another inconsistency in your work. Imagine the efficiency! Like this, look here." Oswald pressed Stuart's face onto the cool iron of the industrial-sized charbroiler and cranked the dials to maximum heat. With his free hand, Oswald trailed his finger along the side of the grill, gathered a scoop of grease, and smeared it across the boy's cheek. "Do you expect my chefs to cook on this filth?"

"No! P-pl-please! I-I-I'll clean it! Right n-now!" Stuart begged. As the heat increased, the grease caked onto the iron bars sizzled against the boy's face.

"Some people change their ways when they see the light, and then there are others who need to feel the heat." Oswald leaned close to Stuart's blistering face. "Do you understand?"

"Yes! Yes!"

While the distressed response did not completely satisfy Oswald, the busboy's pained expression and thrashing body greatly amused him. _What's stopping me from burning half your face off? No one here is going to save you and you obviously cannot help yourself._ The kitchen and all its occupants were eerily quiet, allowing Oswald the opportunity to savor the moment. _The greater the power, the more dangerous the abuse._ Reality enveloped Oswald as he suddenly realized the reason for the stillness. Releasing Stuart, the manager cocked his head to listen: The music upfront was no longer playing. _They couldn't possibly be changing sets already. Had I really sat through that many songs?_ Stuart quickly recoiled from his captor and to the sink, where he ran cool water over his branded face. With a grimace, Oswald avoided the speckled trail of blood the boy left across the kitchen.

"Get back to work. All of you." Oswald ordered sharply. The cooks obeyed instantly, returning to their prior engagements. "And will _someone_ please clean up that blood? For heaven's sake, it's a blatant health hazard." Despite his injuries, Stuart wrapped up his hand and proceeded to sterilize the floors and counters. _Now, there is a good boy. Learning from his mistakes._ With reanimated vigor, Oswald joined the crowd for the brief intermission.

Onstage, Jackson prepared for the night's second set. Nearly a week ago, Oswald had painstakingly drafted a schedule with alternating performances. No one could accuse him of favoritism or contempt; the night was flawlessly balanced. Taking his frustration out on Stuart had elevated the man's spirits. _I suppose it is proper etiquette to congratulate the performer after a good first show. Where has she disappeared to?_ Peering around an overtly affectionate couple, Oswald spotted Mia near the bar talking to a stately brunette.

A familiar figure threw an arm around Mia's shoulders, halting Oswald's approach. _You got some mouth on you, Ozzie. Think you're funny? At what point did you think it was a good idea to make me look like an idiot in class? You know what's really hilarious? Streaking. Now strip. I said strip, ass sucker!_ Reflexively, Oswald's clenched his fists. _Themis._ Taking a step back, the manager considered evading the interaction altogether. Unfortunately, fate was a cruel inamorata; Mia caught sight of him and eagerly waved him over. Oswald despised the irony of the situation. His cosmic punishment for abusing Stuart manifested in the troublesome appearance of his adolescent rival. Summoning all the dignity he could, Oswald limped over to offer his felicitation.

"Congratulations on the successful show." Oswald forced a smile for civility.

Appreciative of the positive feedback, Mia grinned and thrusted the man's arm off her shoulder. "Thanks. I was a bit nervous, but everyone seems to be enjoying themselves."

"Who is your friend?" The manager gestured politely to the unfamiliar woman, completely ignoring Themis's presence.

"Oh, right. How impolite of me! Erin, this is my old friend and current boss Oswald Cobblepot."

"Erin Collins. Pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr. Cobblepot." Erin amiably extended her hand, which Oswald accepted graciously.

"The pleasure is all mine—"

"I can't believe it. Little Ozzie actually filled out a bit. What's it been? Nearly a decade, am I right?" Lifting his drink in mock salutation, Themis chuckled at the subtle insult. Inebriation cast a dull glaze over the man's eyes. A hearty portion of Bourbon sloshed onto the floor, as Mia's brother unsteadily brought the glass back to his lips. Amused by his own mistake, Themis snorted and slapped his forehead. "I'm such a putz." _Ten years is not nearly long enough. I could have gone my whole life without subjecting myself to your boorish conduct again._

"And I am sure you remember my brother, Themis." In an attempt to prevent further embarrassment, Mia placed a firm hand on her sibling's shoulder.

"How could I forget?" Oswald managed through clenched teeth.

"Aw, hey now! No hard feelings, right?" Disoriented, Themis stared at the bubbles swirling about his drink. "I mean, I probably helped motivate you to achieve all this success. Right, Erin? You're a _psychiatrologist._ Isn't that what science says about bullies?"

" _Nobody_ says that." Erin shook her head and took a drink to avoid laughing at Themis's shameless mispronunciations.

Oswald set his jaw and stared at Themis. "I've crafted a firm foundation from the bricks others have thrown at me."

"Bricks! Do you hear this guy? I never threw _bricks_ at you." Themis laughed heartily, swallowed his drink, but paused in a sudden contemplative stupor. "There _may_ have been some bricks. I honestly can't remember!"

Clearing her throat, Mia tugged at Erin's sleeve tenderly. "I think someone may have had a bit too much to drink tonight."

"Oi! We know you're Irish, but keep it classy. A certain someone—" A hiccup interrupted Themis, but he quickly recovered by brandishing his finger in Erin's face. "A certain someone is trying to say you've had one too many missie!" Although he meant to whisper, the intoxicated man's slurred speech was exceedingly boisterous. _So, this is what has become of my old rival? Pathetic. Even though you're her brother, I can't understand why she wastes her time with you._

With a raised eyebrow, Erin grabbed hold of Themis's wavering finger and turned to Mia. "We will finish up here and then I'll make sure he gets home safe."

"Wha— No! We just started catching up. I'm having such a good time!" Themis argued, stumbling against the bar stool behind him.

Twirling a lock of hair around her finger, Mia leaned in closer to Oswald. The sweet scent of gardenias tickled his nose. "Could I speak with you privately? Perhaps up on the roof?"

"The _roof_?" The nightclub manager repeated for clarification.

Mia nodded and whispered into Oswald's ear. "Our absence will give Erin the opportunity to get Themis out of here." _Say no more. Anything to escape the embarrassment of this imbroglio._

"Allow me to show you to the roof!" Oswald exclaimed a bit too eagerly.

Careful not to jostle the glass in his hand, Mia rushed to hug Themis goodbye. Befuddled, the tipsy man wrapped his arms around Mia, squeezed tightly, and swayed contentedly. As if witnessing a pornograpghic scene, Oswald cast a distressed gaze to the floor. _Ugh. Spare me the public displays of affection. This is absurd. I should order my men to break his legs_ — Prying away from Themis, the young woman hurried back to Oswald's side. Weaving between patrons, Oswald wordlessly led Mia toward the back exit.

"Thanks Erin. I owe you one." Mia called back to her friend, who waved in response.

Amidst the escalating chatter and clamor, Themis shouted an undecipherable string of syllables. Neither Oswald nor Mia acknowledged the cry for attention. Instead, the pair disappeared to the far end of the establishment. Upon passing his office door, Oswald paused momentarily to step in to grab his umbrella.

"Are you certain about going up there? We could discuss matters here... in my office."

Without a word, Mia pointed her finger to the ceiling and beamed excitedly. _If you insist..._ Closing the office door, Oswald led his employee through a corridor behind the pulsing stage. He politely opened a burgundy painted door, revealing a dimly lit staircase, and pointed his umbrella toward the summit. Despite the man's effort to discourage the adventure, Mia pressed forward. Her fingertips brushed the walls, guiding the adventurous spirit's ascent to the roof. Reluctantly, Oswald followed close behind; clouds of dust erupted beneath his feet. To steady himself, the manager used his umbrella to balance his staggered gait. Without warning, Mia stopped causing Oswald to collide with her unexpectedly.

"It's locked." Mia explained.

In the darkness, Oswald observed the female silhouette reach up to her hair and withdraw a bobby pin. _After all this time, you are still picking locks. Unbelievable._ As Mia fumbled for the doorknob, Oswald pulled a set of keys from his pocket. His nimble fingers wrapped around her warm wrist, delicately navigating Mia away from the lock. Calmly, Oswald unlocked the door, nudged it open, and released the woman from his grasp. _See. No need for Herculean feats or roundabout shenanigans._

A light rain misted the cityscape, producing an ethereal phosphorescence from the string of streetlamps below. Reflexively, Oswald opened his umbrella and held it over them both. Mia moved from beneath the shelter into the cool drizzle. Oswald tightened his grip on the umbrella and carefully avoided the narrow river rushing into a nearby drain. _What could she possibly want to discuss all the way up here?_ _This isn't exactly an agreeable location for business._ Mia peered over the ledge at the traffic below. _People catch pneumonia this way, you know._ The nightclub manager approached the edge of the roof and stared apathetically at the starless sky.

"The air feels so good." Mia took a deep breath. Droplets of water beaded in her hair, reflecting the artificial glow. A sinister flood rushed over Oswald's thoughts. _I could push her off… Be done with this whole ordeal. The building is wet, she slipped. What could I do?_

Oswald closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You always did have a fondness for heights."

"I like the idea of a different perspective. From all the way up here, Gotham isn't such a bleak place." Mia explained with a smile.

"And standing in the rain? Is that for perspective too?" Oswald sniffed.

"Mhm." Mia looked at him and slipped back beneath the umbrella. _It's no use now. You are already sopping wet._

"Well, this has been a delight. Might I suggest returning to the comforts of a drier area? Unless of course, you wanted to proceed with that private conversation." The patter of rain against the canopy intensified, reinforcing Oswald's proposition.

"I just wanted to thank you for everything. The job. The recent kindness. It means a lot to me." Her gratitude seemed sincere, but Oswald deliberately remained quiet. Mia cocked her head to the side and grinned at him. "What?"

"Wet or dry, all gratitude tends to sound the same. You could have said all of that downstairs." Oswald shrugged, but granted her a faint smile.

"You seem to be missing a cuff link." Mia pointed out casually.

"Excuse me?" To clarify her observation, Mia seized hold of Oswald's wrist and pushed her finger through the unoccupied hole in his sleeve. "Ah, I must have lost it. That's unfortunate." _Even if Stuart manages to retrieve it, I won't ever wear it again. What a waste._ Oswald pulled his arm away from her grasp and unfastened his remaining link."Here, you can have it if you want." _You can have it, if you want? Suave. Real classy. Who wants a throw-away scrap like that? Why are you acting so foolish all of a sudden?_ Mia accepted the token and inspected the elaborate detail etched onto the surface.

Biting down on her lower lip, the woman returned her gaze to Oswald. "Do you remember that old system we had for hiding things? Notes, coins, all the lost treasures we found on the shore— This would've been a great addition to one of our collections." _That piece of silver by itself costs nearly one hundred and fifty dollars. Nothing we ever found matched that._ "For teenagers, I have to admit, we were pretty adept at concealing our secrets." _Were? I can honestly say that is a trait I still maintain to this very day, Mia._ "It's crazy to think how many hours we must have spent playing those silly games." _Why must you be so concerned with the past?_ Suddenly, Oswald realized that he had forgotten to speak. Rather than disrupt Mia's sentimentality, the night club manager played along with the memory.

"Ah, yes. The power of inductive and deductive reasoning. Pick a roof, hide the object, leave a single insignificant clue, and then expect the other to find it. An absolute delight." Oswald recollected the procedure with feigned nostalgia. _We could have had normal hobbies, if your brother and his friends had kept their noses out of our business._ The memory, however, did not wholly upset him. Although admitting the fact aloud pained him, Oswald fondly appreciated the old activities based on logic and intelligence. "And just like this entire conversation, all of those projects could have easily been executed on solid ground."

"For perspective, remember?" Mia retorted playfully. "Since you seem so persistent though, I suppose it couldn't hurt to get back to the show. Jackson promised a few new songs tonight. I'd hate to miss out on that."

Stepping toward the door, Oswald drew his umbrella closed. Shaking the water from the fabric, he allowed Mia to enter the building first. He followed her quietly down the dark stairs, careful not slip. Once on the ground floor, Oswald closed the last door and returned the keys to his jacket pocket. The pair looked at each other for a moment, until a commotion from the front room caught their attention.

A crowd of people gasped, as glass shattered to the floor. Two men scuffled within a ring of bystanders, throwing drunken punches at each other. The taller of the two fell over groaning, his nose broken and blood spewing onto the floor. Taking action, Butch grabbed Themis who jumped to hit the man again. Wiping blood away from his lip, Themis struggled furiously against Butch's grip. _What the… what happened here?_ Before Oswald could voice his objection, Mia stepped forward and asked the question for him.

"Themis! Wh-what happened?" Mia exclaimed with concern. The nameless man on the floor groaned and attempted to cover his bloody face before passing out. Erin, arms folded, stepped forward with a smug expression. Careful to avoid the victim's twitching leg, shemoved closer to Mia to explain the situation.

"When I went to the restroom, apparently this guy slipped something into my drink."

"So I beat the shit out of him." Themis spat angrily. "Is that what kind of place this is? Where a girl has to get roofied to have a good time?"

"Come on there hero. What did I tell you earlier about disturbing the peace? I think it's best you go home." Butch tightened his grasp on the man and dragged him out of the circle.

"Oh, Butch! Please don't hurt him." Mia begged.

 _Oh no, go ahead. Hurt him, Butch. Go on. Throw him out on the street and crack his head open._ Suddenly, Oswald felt all eyes fall on him. The room was eerily silent, as even the band had stopped to listen. _What could they possibly be expecting from me? Bravo! A potential rapist was thwarted! The drunken fool can stay. Free drinks for everyone!_ _I don't think so._

"What should I do with him?" Butch asked apprehensively.

Rabble rousers were not uncommon at nightclubs in Gotham, and bouncers were often given the authority to toss an inebriated troublemaker out with the evening's trash. Every Friday and Saturday, the ER prepared for the onslaught of injured patients with skull fractures, broken noses, and stab wounds. Realizing the severity of his action, a sudden grimace of anxiety crossed Themis's face. _Not so tough when you are all alone, are you?_

"You know the policy, Butch. I don't tolerate any sort of violence in my establishment. Get him out of here." _I'm going to enjoy every second of this._

"This isn't really necessary, is it? You don't need to make a big show of it all." Erin spoke up defensively. "If anyone deserves to be thrown out, it's this creep on the floor." With relative ease, Butch roughly pulled Themis by his shoulders closer to the exit.

"I am capable of showing myself out, thanks." Themis argued quickly, knowing all too well that pain was most conveniently delivered away from witnesses.

"Just keep your mouth shut." Butch grumbled through clenched teeth

"If you don't call off this goon, you will be looking at a lawsuit." Erin asserted fiercely. _Is that right? Good luck filing a lawsuit in a lawless city. Clearly, you haven't been here long. Might I suggest you find some new—_

"Oswald, please." Noticing the alarm and concern on Mia's face, Oswald arrived at an uncomfortable pause. _What did you expect, Mia? After all these years, I have an opportunity and you ask me not to take it?_ As the bouncer moved to open the door, Oswald cleared his throat and spoke up over the crowd that was only just beginning to lose interest in the situation.

"That will suffice, Butch. Just see them out. _Both_ of them." Oswald nodded toward Erin, who rolled her eyes callously. "Then be sure to get this," the manager motioned to the unconscious man on the floor, "taken care of." _Just get everything and everyone out of my sight._ With a nod, Butch released his grip on Themis, but hastily escorted him and Erin out the door.

"Thank—" Mia began, but Oswald cut off her gratitude with a scoff.

"Don't invite them here again," Oswald limped passed her, "and clean up this mess. Why don't we have music?" Before the nightclub manager was able to chastise Jackson and the other musicians for the delay, the beat kicked up and business resumed.

With a sigh, Oswald slipped into his office and pressed his back against the locked door. Throwing Themis out on the street should have been a moment of poetic justice, yet all he could feel was a wave of bitter disappointment. _This is her fault. She invited him here. Into my sanctuary. She's the reason why I haven't been able to think straight! Bringing up the past and trying to rekindle some long lost friendship! No. It's too late for that. Years of resentment have murdered any remaining compassion I hold toward her._ Oswald sat down at his desk and covered his face. _And yet… The girl is so sincere. Forgiving and generous. Perhaps, I was wrong to rush us off that roof. Did I miss something? A moment, a movement… something that would tell me exactly what I need to do to..._ A red three flashed rhythmically on the recorder. _Missed messages?_ With newfound curiosity, he played the recorder back.

"Mr. Cobblepot— This is Dr. Carter. I would like to apologize for our last meeting. I allowed my temper to get the better of me. Anyway, I am _more_ than willing to compromise and pay those additional fees you requested. Call me back at your earliest convenience." A similar message from the museum curator followed, more concise and pithy in tone. "Dr. Carter again. I have a matter of the utmost importance to discuss with you. Call as soon as you receive this." The final message exposed the curator's urgency and annoyance. "Return my call, _Mr. Cobblepot_." Oswald rolled his eyes, leaned back in his office chair, and kicked his feet up to the desk. For now, thoughts concerning Mia could wait. _That's why I love business relationships. They are so easy to manipulate._ The nightclub manager picked up the handset and dialed the private number to connect to the Museum of Antiquities.


	5. Chapter 5: GAG

**Chapter Five: GAG**

A misty layer of coastal fog descended lazily over the dark urban landscape, abandoned inland by the fickle, early autumn breeze. Lines of steel lamp posts emitted a dull phosphorescence, illuminating the deserted city sidewalks. Only the occasional sleep deprived dog-walker or enterprising drug dealer broke the monotony of the quiet boulevard. The electric blue numbers blaring from the clock radio changed to 3:13 AM. Erin adjusted the defroster, attempting to chase away the condensation forming on the interior of the BMW's windows. Wipers swiped rhythmically across the windshield; fresh droplets beaded onto the glass, replacing those callously swiped away by repetition. To Erin, the world was alluringly calm and stationary.

 _How incredibly stupid of me. No matter where you are or who you're with, never leave your drink unattended. What if you had been drugged? What if you were alone? What if something had happened and you had to involve the police again?_ Digging her nails into the steering wheel, Erin chastised herself silently. The moisture that had dampened the young woman's hair and shoulders was nearly dry.

In the passenger seat, Themis cleaned the dried blood from underneath his fingernails and then obnoxiously tapped his wristwatch. Through her peripherals, Erin observed her best friend's brother with a renewed sense of appreciation. Despite his recent altercation, the young man appeared relatively relaxed. The gash on his swollen, lower lip was beginning to clot. Dried blood speckled Themis's cotton shirt, a permanent reminder of his outstanding victory. _After all our disagreements, he still had the common decency to look out for my well-being. Did I really misjudge him that severely?_

"Piece of shit." Themis grumbled bitterly through gritted teeth.

"To whom are referring exactly? Mia's boss or the unconscious frat boy you sent to the emergency room?" Erin inquired, grateful that Themis chose to break the suffocating silence first.

"Oh, well, they are both assholes." Themis clarified with an inebriated smirk. With a metallic snap, the young man pulled the costly watch off his wrist. "I was actually referring to my watch. It's ten minutes slow." Pressing the switch on the armrest, Themis rolled down the car window and tossed the timepiece into the gutter. _No. I definitely judged him correctly._

"For the record, I set all of my clocks ten minutes fast. This way, I am always on time to personal functions." Erin explained leaning in to turn off the defroster, while Themis closed the window. For a moment the passengers in the car reverted back to silence. Only the patter of rain against the glass was audible. Themis reclined his chair and folded his arms in mock irritation.

"So, you're telling me, I threw away a perfectly good watch... because you take punctuality too seriously?"

"You threw away a good watch, because you never think before you act." Erin retorted defensively. _Although, that worked out in my favor tonight, didn't it?_

"Fair enough. The watch was a gift anyway. No harm done." Themis chuckled to himself and threw an arm over his eyes. _He cannot possibly be so insouciant. Does he really not consider the consequences of his actions?_ While Themis comfortably enjoyed the remainder of his buzz, Erin tensely watched the road and mentally retreated to her thoughts. Distant, yet familiar, voices reverberated into a faint memory.

 _Oi! Collins! Ya know what ya need? A fackin' drink, thas what!_

 _Me? What about you? If you hadn't gunned down Bryne, I'd have a bullet lodged in my skull right now. After that clusterfuck, I'd say we all deserve a pint._

 _Or two!_

 _More like six or seven, realistically._

In Gotham, Erin typically restrained herself from forging personal relationships. Built entirely on trust, the bonds of camaraderie were often too fragile or frayed to salvage. Everyday, Erin listened to people gossip or cry about their closest friends. Pushing potential allies away was a safe alternative to physical or emotional betrayal. General misanthropy and distrust, however, had also significantly isolated Erin. The only person in the city that Erin could confide in was Mia, though even their friendship retained its own certain set of limitations.

"You might not care about what I'm about to say, but I am going to say it anyway." Erin cleared her throat and prepared to breech her comfort zone. "It means a lot to me that you were looking out for me back there. Thank you for keeping an eye on me." Half-expecting Themis to laugh or respond sarcastically to her sentimentality, Erin clenched her jaw and patiently waited. _If I'm lucky, maybe he's drunk enough to not remember this conversation._

"Don't thank me, Collins. Honestly, I would have done it for anyone." The passenger's reply and gentle tone surprised her, encouraging Erin to glance over at him. _So, he can be serious._ "It's not about seeking gratitude or preforming a heroic deed. It's about being a decent human being, you know? I can't stand by idly, when I can act and help someone. For as much as I joke around, I would never want to see you or anyone else hurt by some scumbag."

"That's rather noble of you. The only thing necessary for evil to triumph is, after all, for good men to do nothing." Erin replied thoughtfully.

"I don't know about any of that. I'm definitely not a good person," Themis peered from underneath his arm at Erin and smiled, "but I am not a bad one either." The young man returned his nose to the crevice of his arm and yawned. "Just remember, if you ever need any help, I'm always willing to lend a helping hand."

"Now that you mention it, I have a body in the trunk that I need to dispose of somewhere secluded." Erin explained placidly, attempting to suppress the smile curling into existence at the corner of her mouth. Having breached the invisible social barrier preventing her from episodes of sportive banter, the young woman finally relaxed her instincts and allowed herself to enjoy Themis's heretical company.

Without flinching, Themis waved his palm at the roof of the vehicle and cleared his throat. "Let's toss him on the beach and be done with it then, because I'm far too fucked up to be digging any kind of hole in the ground."

"It's good to know that you are at least ready and willing." A pair of high beams from a passing car highlighted the smirk supporting Erin's high cheekbones. The double entandre was intentional.

"Always, my dear." Themis shifted his feet, kicked off his right shoe, and attempted to scratch the sole of his foot on the interior carpet. "Speaking of ready and willing… Are you _sure_ you want to go home alone tonight?"

"You've got to be kidding. Your feet reek. I don't want you anywhere near my apartment." Erin snorted in partial disgust.

"They aren't that bad!" Themis uncovered his face and leaned forward in his seat to take a hearty sniff. Unsure of the conclusion, the young man pulled his black ankle sock off and brought his foot closer to his nose.

Mildly perturbed by the unsanitary act and lingering aroma, Erin reached over and pushed his foot back toward the floor. "Take my word for it. It's pretty awful. You've completely killed the momen─"

A massive shadow lumbered out from the mist, jumped off the curb, and collided with the BMW. Far too late to effectively stop the vehicle, Erin slammed on the brakes. The unidentifiable mass rolled up the hood of the car, cracked the windshield, and disappeared toward the taillights' red glow. Caught by his seat belt, Themis lurched forward and threw his arms out at the dashboard to stabilize himself. Erin gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white from the tension. _Fuck. Was it a person? Please, don't let it be a person. A trash can! It was probably just a trash can._

"What the fuck was that?" Themis asked the question Erin could not. _I don't know. It came out of nowhere. Fuck. Fuck! After everything I've done to move passed Cookie… now I've gone and fucked it all up again. I won't get off lightly this time. "_ Earth to Erin, we have a bit of a problem! Are you hurt? What did we hit? Did you get a look at it?"

" _I don't know._ " Erin unbuckled her safety belt and scanned the cracked glass for blood. Sobering slightly, Themis straightened his seat, freed himself from his harness, and slipped his shoe back on.

"Stay here. I'll take a look."

"Don't be stupid." Erin protested, but Themis thrusted his index finger at her sternly.

"Let me survey the damage, so I can prepare you. Just relax, alright?"

Before the woman could argue any further, Themis stepped out onto the sidewalk and closed the door with a heavy thud. With a shaky sigh, Erin pressed her forehead against the cool, smooth leather of the steering wheel and listened to the hum of the engine. _What now? Do I risk arrest? What if they realize who I used to be? What if I have to run again? Should I drive away now and pretend like this never happened? Could I really leave Themis here to shoulder the responsibility?_ Realizing her foot was still on the break, Erin put the car in park, flipped her hazards on, and stared unblinkingly her half-empty gas tank. Self-preservation was important, but Erin was exhausted from running away. _Whatever happens, I─_

A rapid knock at the driver's window jolted Erin back into the reality of her situation. Themis hurriedly motioned for her to roll down the window, an excited expression illuminating his face. Confused, Erin lowered the panel for an explanation.

"You got to take a look at this. I've never seen anything like it."

"What are you talking about? Did I hit a person or not?" Erin inquired firmly.

"Huh? No! It's definitely not a person. It's freaky as fuck though." Themis's tentative explanation did not ease Erin's conscience. Rather, the man's undecipherable ramblings only served to increase her anxiety. Without warning, Themis dived through the window, over Erin's lap, and toward console separating the passenger from the driver. His feet dangled haphazardly out the window.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Erin snapped. "Get off!"

"Chill out. I'm just grabbing my phone. I need to take a picture of this thing. Shit, I wish I brought my camera. Really! It's got to belong to the circus or something." Themis felt around the dark vehicle until he grabbed hold of his phone.

 _I really don't need this right now. In fact, this is the opposite of what I need!_ Realizing Themis was potentially stuck on top of her, Erin forced open the driver's door allowing Themis's lower half to drop onto the wet street. Untangling herself from the troublemaker, the woman stepped out of the car and cautiously walked toward the rear of the BMW. Across the street, a stray cat screeched and knocked over a metal garbage can, prompting the soft hairs at the base of Erin's neck to prickle. The unrelenting mist redampened her shoulders as she side-stepped a puddle and a half-covered manhole.

Although the rear window suffered no damages, there was a deep crater in the trunk of her car. Silver clouds of exhaust plumed from the muffler. Erin prepared herself for the worst. Much to her surprise, however, the victim had entirely disappeared. Squinting into the shadows, Erin silently surveyed the nearby alleyways. _There is no way a person could get up and walk away after a collision like that. Where did they go?_ Themis reappeared at her side and shined the flashlight on his smartphone onto the street. The excitement on his face wavered slightly. Crouching down on his hindquarters, Themis scoped the underneath of the car before turning his attention to Erin.

"Where did it go?"

"You're _sure_ that it wasn't a person?" Erin reiterated.

"What? No! It was… Well, I don't know what it was, but it was definitely not human!" Themis stood up and dusted off his jeans.

"It must have walked off then." A sigh of relief escaped Erin's lips. _If it got up and ran away, it's certainly not dead._ Erin wandered to the front of the car to assess the damages with a renewed perspective. "If it can walk and it wasn't a human being, then I'm not going to worry about it." The streetlamp above them flickered wildly, then faded into a dim orange glow.

"Now hold on, Collins. You're not listening to me! This thing was definitely dead. It was dead... and, and... _enormous_." Following Erin to the front of the BMW, Themis threw out his arms to indicate that the creature was twice the size of himself. _This damage is so extensive. How am I going to explain this?_ "It's eye sockets were larger than my fists!"

"Calm down, will you? You're still drunk and probably in shock. You must have seen a dog. Strays are a common problem in this part of the city." Erin offered a calm explanation, moving to the driver's side door. The hum of the engine offered to bring her home safely without further complication. "Let's just get you home."

"It was hairy like a dog, but scaly too. Fuck! I wish I had a picture of it." The blatherings of a drunken fool were almost too much for Erin to handle.

"Just get in the car, Themis. I am ready for this night to be over." Erin slipped into her seat and closed the door, hoping her action would encourage her passenger to do the same. Themis moved to the passenger door and opened it, but remained on the street.

"It's weird though right?" The lack of blood, fur, or a body certainly confused her, but questioning the situation only served to make Erin more anxious. _I'd rather let it go, honestly. Weird or not, we probably won't uncover any real answers._ "We should try to find it." _No._ Another car drove by, flashing its high-beams at the BMW. _Get the fuck out of here. Really? I'm pulled over with my hazards on! Give me a brea─_ In that brief moment of light, a peculiar movement from behind Themis caught Erin's attention. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ The cracks in the windshield made it too difficult to see any possible escape in front of them. Although the heart in her chest began to race, she inconspicuously shifted the car into reverse.

"Get in the car." Erin ordered tensely.

"Do you think it could have been an alien? I've never believed in any of that bullshit before, but after what I just saw─ I don't know." An elongated, violet-hued appendage appeared from behind Themis: a sopping, saliva drenched tongue nearly three feet in length.

The forked tongue gingerly stroked the front of his shirt, in an effort to taste the blood that had long since dried on it. _Grab Themis. Get the gun from the glove box. Drive._ A throaty growl forced her mental plans into action. Instinctively, Erin grabbed the oblivious Themis by the collar of his shirt. Agitated by the sudden movement, the shadowy mass lunged forward. Slamming on the accelerator, Erin pulled the young man into the car and held onto him tightly. The passenger door flailed wildly as the driver sped down the street in reverse. At the side of the car, a massive cryptid with amber eyes plummeted onto the sidewalk. The creature swiped at the open door toward Themis, who gradually slipped from Erin's grasp. Grabbing hold of the seat, Themis stabilized himself and turned to face their assailant.

"Close the door and grab the gun from the glove box!" Erin commanded over the roar of the road. Before Themis could comply, Erin swerved to avoid a parked car. The flailing car door collided with a lamp post; sparks showered over the wet road and the door of the BMW tumbled into a brick wall.

"Scratch the door idea! What was that about a gun?!" Themis shouted over the wind. With a screech, the creature leaped into the open car. Nimble fingers with razor-blade claws punctured the roof of the vehicle. Without hesitation, Themis kicked the beast in the face, losing his right shoe to the animal's jaws, but forcing the beast back onto the road.

"In the glove box!" Erin steered the car in reverse down another street, all the while using the rear view mirror to navigate. Frantically, Themis shoveled through the nearby compartment and withdrew a .357 snub nose revolver. The creature tackled the hood of the car, splintering the glass in the windshield even further. Meandering around potholes and uptown construction, Erin barely noticed the cars that passed them on the road, flashing their lights and blaring their horns at her erratic driving.

"Where is the hammer on this gun?!" Themis shouted. Shards of glass exploded over the pair, as the beast used its talons to rip through the windshield.

"Pull the fucking trigger!" Erin snapped hurriedly.

Blindly aiming at the creature's arms, Themis shot off two consecutive rounds. Although the bullets missed their target, the animal withdrew from hood of the car and clambered to the roof. Hoping to catch the beast off balance, Erin veered the BMW into a circle and shifted into drive. With a belabored groan, the unidentified assailant slipped off the car. Despite the pain of falling onto concrete, the creature sprang back up and pursued the vehicle. Themis squeezed the trigger three more times, before Erin leaned over to grab his arm and steady his aim. The bullet left the chamber of the gun and hit its mark. The cryptid screeched, diving away into an alley of dumpsters. Shaking, Erin released Themis and turned down another street, ignoring the traffic lights and speed limit signs.

"What the _fuck_ just happened?" Themis panted holding the hot gun against his heaving chest. The majority of the windshield glittered in uneven piles at their feet and in their laps.

"I don't know." Erin stared at the road, her eyes scanning the dark alleyways for any potential threats.

"Is it still following us?"  
" _I don't know._ " Erin reiterated. "I'm just─ I'm just going to drive until I'm sure that it's not." Droplets of rain sprinkled their sweaty faces and a biting wind rushed over them; at that moment, motility seemed to be the only real refuge.

* * *

 _A pearlescent frog leapt from the safety of its mud pocket to escape the trespassers' intrusive steps. Disregarding the numerous signs and occasional barbed wire, Mia cautiously serpentined her way down the bank of the Sprang River toward the Robert H. Kane Memorial bridge. The scent of moist earth and urban waste filled the young girl's lungs. Her exposed knees suffered from a set of fresh, haphazard scrapes; white shorts and a cobalt blue tank top were not exactly fit for this sort of venture. Nearby, Mia heard her sister's annoyed grunt, followed by an unidentifiable suction noise. Delilah's left sandal stuck to the surface of the silty mud, preventing her from matching her sibling's long-legged stride._

" _Hold up! You're going too fast." Delilah whined. The girl paused a moment to tie up her sandy blonde hair, allowing the muck to momentarily swallow her feet._

" _It's going to be dark soon. If we don't get it now, I'll have to wait until tomorrow afternoon to pick it up." Mia pushed passed a particularly obtrusive shrub. A thorn grazed her wrist, adding yet another wound to her collection. "Just keep moving, alright? We're almost there." Delilah rolled her eyes, but nonetheless pressed forward. She had, after all, been determined and curious enough to follow her sister uninvited in the first place._

" _I don't even understand the point of any of this." Delilah shouted her criticism from afar. Her hazel-gray eyes surveyed the path that Mia carved ahead with uncertain speculation. Perchance some part of her rationality regretted her foolhardy decision. Sprinting from the mud onto firmer ground, the young girl managed to catch up to her sister. "Why can't he just give you stuff in person?"_

 _The Robert H. Kane Memorial Bridge towered above the two adventurous adolescents. The structure's poured cement was blackened by years of soot and cracked from centuries of weathering. Citizens, oblivious to architectural strains, continued to obliviously drive across it to get to the casinos, trendy dive-bars, and playboy mansions across the river. There was nothing in Kane County that a man could not find, given that he had the money and the motivation to seek it out. Although the bridge was linked to this particularly seedy adult playground, it also served as a grim and constant reminder of Gotham's violent history:_

 _A pair of stepbrothers, Nicholas and Bradley Anders, had crafted an elaborate plan for the construction of a bridge that would connect the city to the northern mainland. Prominent entrepreneur and mob boss, Cameron Kane, eagerly offered to finance the project, so long as the road was established directly upon his land. With elections approaching that year, local politicians furiously debated this precarious stipulation. Attaching the road to Kane County would inevitably increase the city's crime, but it would also deepen the pockets of those corrupt businessmen who staked their livelihoods on bribery and deceit. To the benefit of all, the majority claimed, the bridge was better destined for a section of Alan Wayne's real estate. This plot of land was already known for it's bustling industry and unmitigated prosperity. The objective, however, was clear to everyone: whomever owned the bridge, would possess an exorbitant amount of influence over Gotham. Stepping up to the task, the architects chose to route the structure to the Wayne property._

 _When Bradley Anders's corpse was fished out of the river the week following the brothers' decision, the public facilitated the rumor that the mob boss had finished him off personally. Gossip spread like flame, especially after plans were announced to switch the bridge's destination back toward Kane County. There was no additional explanation. Whether the hearsay was truth or fiction, Nicholas Anders found no forgiveness in his heart for the Kane family or the bridge that oversaw the fraternal murder. In a final act of vengeance, the remaining architect shot Kane's eldest son, Robert, in the back of the head and then finished the act by eating his shotgun. Grief stricken, Cameron Kane memorialized his boy by naming the structure after him. The sky gradually turned a burnt orange hue; even if no one remembered all the facts of this history, the bridge alone would reminisce._

" _It's just a way to have fun, Dillie. I mean, I'd invite him over to hang out, but our brother can't control himself." Mia shook the weak, chain link fence surrounding the property. "So, we've found an alternative method of entertainment." With a smug smile, Mia found the malleable section and held it open for her sister to pass through._

" _It's fucking weird." Delilah frowned._

" _If you don't like it, you are more than welcome to stay here while I search the bridge. Since when do you curse anyway?" Mia snorted in an attempt to hold back a laugh. Unamused, Delilah muttered something inaudible and ducked under the chain link fence. Underneath the bridge, Mia searched the modern steel reinforcements installed only last year. The young girl grabbed hold of the framework and pulled herself up on the ledge. A consistent hum from the vehicles above vibrated the rubber in the soles of her shoes. The beam was slick with a mixture of rainwater and motor oil._

" _How did he even get up there?" Delilah panted, attempting to follow her sister's example. Mia caught her hand and hurriedly pulled her up. "This can't possibly be the right place."_

" _It's right. He said it'd be around here somewhere. Besides, we've actually used this spot in the past." Mia responded. "You stay here. It might be dangerous out on the beam."_

 _Although the ledge was wide enough for three people to safely walk across shoulder to shoulder, Mia still worried about slipping off and plummeting into the choppy river nearly a hundred feet below. Finding her balance, Mia carefully walked toward the bridge's center. Cold waves lapped at the ankles of the bridge, hungry for her potential mistake. Reaching the median, another support prevented her from moving any further. Over a year ago, Mia had utilized the bridge to hide a particularly pricey artifact for Oswald: a wristwatch she found forgotten in a coffeehouse near the school downtown. Unfortunately, Themis had chucked the prize into a busy intersection the first time Oswald attempted to wear it to school._

 _Strategically, Mia felt along the back of the beam with her fingers and searched for abnormalities. She retracted her hands, which were colored with residual carbon. Nothing. Squinting, the young girl inspected the steel structure looming above her head. Nothing. Frustrated, Mia folded her arms and observed at the metal intently. A shiny bolt, very unlike the rest of the dingy bits, caught her attention._

" _Now that is interesting. What could that mean?" Mia's eyes lit up with excitement. She tested the strength of the bolt with her hand, silently chiding herself for forgetting to bring her portable tool kit. To her delight, the piece was well-greased and unscrewed easily with several gentle counterclockwise twists. Carefully, Mia removed the bolt to reveal a thin silver ring loosely hanging from the fastener. The precious metal glimmered like unearthed spinel in the sunset._

" _Really though... that kid is so strange." Delilah commented bluntly causing Mia to jump in surprise. The young girl dropped the bolt, which spiraled soundlessly down into the water below. Taking a deep breath, Mia pinched the ring tightly between her index finger and thumb._

" _He's not strange. It's just part of our game. I wouldn't expect you to understand." Mia retorted, a bit sour that her younger sister disobeyed her command to remain behind._

" _You realize he likes you, right? I mean, why else would any normal person give their friend a ring?" Delilah's nose wrinkled when her tongue managed to twist out the word 'normal'. "You shouldn't lead him on like that."_

" _Wait! What? I'm not leading anyone on!" Mia defensively placed her free hand on her corresponding hip._

" _So you like him too then? That's… kinda gross."_

" _We are friends." Feeling the conversation taking an uncomfortable turn, Mia reverted her gaze to the setting sun. "Could we just get home before I regret letting you tag along?"_

 _Delilah chewed on the inside of her cheek, but made no move to return to the embankment. "Let me see that thing, would you?"_

" _What? No, you'll drop it. I'll show it to you later tonight." As Delilah reached out her hand to grab the ring, Mia withdrew it quickly._

" _Seriously? You never key me in on anything! What are the benefits of having a sister, if we never get to have any fun together?" Delilah muttered bitterly. The comment irritated Mia, who could only frown in reply. Her younger sister often whined to get her way, but lately the comments were bitingly hurtful. To Mia's disappointment, the statement was not altogether false. Much of her free time these last few months was spent meeting up with Oswald or avoiding Themis. Giving into the pressure, Mia offered the ring to Delilah, who snatched it up and examined its details. "It's not very impressive."_

" _Satisfied?"_

 _Delilah slipped the ring on her index finger. "Where do you think he got it?"_

" _No idea." Mia was becoming even more impatient with her sister._

" _Themis is going to ask questions." Delilah waved her hand in the air, pleased by the way the sun refracted off the precious metal._

" _We aren't telling Themis about this, remember? Now hand it over, before you drop it." Mia mumbled, swiping at Delilah's hand to retrieve the ring. With a devious smile, Delilah dodged her sister's gesture. "I'm not kidding around. Hand it over!"_

" _Make me—"_

 _Swiping for her sister again, Mia lost her footing and slipped forward. Flailing her arms, the young girl barely managed to catch hold of the slick ledge. Adrenaline surged through Mia's veins, but the additional energy was useless; as she attempted to pull herself up, the girl lost her grip on slick steel structure._

" _Delilah!" Mia called out desperately._

 _In shock, Delilah stood frozen, her mouth partially agape, staring blankly at her sister's dire situation. A speedier reaction would not have mattered. Losing her grasp completely, Mia suddenly fell away from the bridge and immediately into the churning river. Her body forcibly hit the icy water. Pain radiated across her back and through her head, as all the organs in her body shifted from the impact. Underwater, Mia reflexively opened her eyes. The world was cloaked in darkness, a monotone broken only by the refraction of tangerine light against the bubbles she managed to choke out. Reorienting herself, she propelled her numb body to the surface. The first gulp of frigid air pierced her lungs and sinuses. After only a minute, the young girl realized that the current had already swept her farther out toward the harbor. An approaching tug boat blared its horn—_

The din of early morning traffic wakened Mia from her restless snooze. Beside the bus, an irritated businessman in a well-tailored suit argued with the bus driver from the safety of his vehicle. The Robert H. Kane Memorial Bridge was now miles away in the distance, shaded by smog. Momentarily shaking the memory from her thoughts, Mia directed her attention to the scene unfolding on the street. Yellow caution tape fluttered around the sidewalk like overzealous streamers at a tragic birthday party. Bits of glass and metal were strewn about the street. It was not uncommon for vehicular accidents to hold up the morning or afternoon commute, but the amount of devastation was particularly impressive today. A frazzled looking news crew set up a camera near the scene to broadcast the story. _I hope no one was hurt. It must have been a real doozy this time._ Mia pressed her forehead against the glass and watched a policeman unenthusiastically direct pedestrians across the street. The bus attempted to merge ahead of its rival, careful not to disrupt the massive clean up unit. Irritated, the businessman slammed on his horn. Across the street, the cameraman shot a glare at the noisy traffic. Mia adjusted the guitar case between her legs, leaned back in the seat, and closed her eyes again.

 _I should have never been out on that bridge in the first place._ The past guilt continued to gnaw at her conscience. _Or at the very least kept Delilah out of harms way. What if she had fallen that day? What if the tugboat hadn't seen me?_ Having worked all night for Oswald, however, Mia lacked the energy to properly fight herself over the antiquated misgivings. The fresh dahlia clinging to her hair was wilted; its petals had lost their intense color, composing into a dark earthly brown. Mia thoughtfully rolled the silver cufflink between her fingers. Subconsciously, she felt for obscure ridges or engravings. The small piece managed to give her some brief solace. By no fault of her own, Delilah had dropped the ring that day somewhere between the riverbank and the bypass. The loss did not matter considering the circumstances, but the new artifact reassured Mia that objects once lost could eventually return or be replaced by some form.

Despite her brother's misbehavior the night before, Mia considered the evening a relative success. People filtered in and out of the nightclub from dusk until dawn. Given the nature of her mission, Mia felt that the odds were increasingly in her favor. _I'm going to find him soon. When I do, I'll be one step closer to finding Delilah. I can feel it. I am close. I just know it._ The bus stopped short, thrusting the musician forward unexpectedly. Oswald's cufflink tumbled from her hand, bounced under the seat, and rolled toward the rear of the coach.

"Crap!" Mia exclaimed. Pushing her guitar case out of the way, the woman slipped out of the plastic seat and onto the floor. She scrambled along the aisle on her hands and knees, searching for the stray cufflink. Passengers silently scoffed and leered at the absurdity of the situation, but disregarded Mia as simply another mentally disturbed resident of Gotham. The scent of wet socks and moldy toenails churned Mia's empty stomach. Grime and dirt darkened her bare knees and white dress. _Where did it go?_ _I don't see it anywhere._ A hooded teenager with thick curls peered around the seat at the adult scrounging around beneath the gum-covered armrests.

"What are you doing?" The young girl inquired, a coat of judgment laced her question.

"I dropped a cufflink." Mia explained patiently, though she paid little mind to the stranger. _There it is! No, wait… That's just a candy wrapper._

"You aren't wearing a suit." Throwing back her hood, the nimble teen folded her arms across her chest and chewed obnoxiously on a wad of gum.

"That's very... observant of you?" A foreign sticky substance glazed the ground, which caused Mia to grimace in disgust. "Ugh! What the hell is this?" _Never mind, I don't want to know._

"What I meant to say," the girl wrinkled her nose at the mysterious liquid beneath her seat and quickly lifted her feet up off the ground to avoid further contact with the substance, "is that you don't seem to be wearing the proper get-up for links."

"It was a gift from a friend." For the first time during their conversation, Mia raised her flushed face to meet her acquaintance. The teen's hazel eyes hauntingly surveyed Mia's position on the floor. Wiping her hands on her dress, the woman resumed a squatting position in order to give her knees a rest. "Have you seen it?"

"One cuff link?" With a half shrug, Mia nodded and steadied herself against the armrest. "Who gives someone a single cufflink? That's really weird." The words echoed Delilah's familiar acidic tone, yet the interaction itself seemed non-confrontational.

"I suppose so. Regardless, I want to find it before I have to get off the bus." Mia responded gently, ducking back under the seats.

The elderly woman sitting directly behind the teen sneered at Mia and attempted to kick her away. "My god! You're absolutely filthy! Were you raised in a barn?"

"I've seen you before." The teen popped her gum, turning around to watch Mia's interaction with the raspy-voiced crone. "You help out that old guy on eleventh all the time."

Confused, Mia furrowed her brow and retreated back to empty seat adjacent to the talkative adolescent. "Eleventh? ...Oh, you must mean my Pops! Yeah, occasionally I help him out in the shop, but only if I have the time." _I should really give him a call about that weird florist._

"No, not the tailor. The guy with the dog." The girl leaned back in her seat and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

"Huh?" Mia searched her memories for the proper information. Realization washed over her suddenly, prompting a sheepish smile to curl at the corner of her lips. "The homeless man? I– well, I mean, I toss him a few bucks every now and again. It's nothing crazy."

"You give him something every time you ride the bus. Those cupcakes looked pretty bomb, you know.."

"How long have you been watching me exactly?" Mia inquired, forgetting about her current objective.

"Don't flatter yourself. We share the same bus stop." The teen's jovial humor disintegrated abruptly into embittered angst. Mia put her hands up in defense, careful not to lose her balance conversationally or physically.

"Right! Of course! I only meant you seem to have acquired a great skill… People watching can be really useful if you know how to use it." The bus stopped short causing Mia to swing forward momentarily. The bus driver glared at the blatant safety hazard from his rear view mirror. Suddenly very conscious of her misconduct, Mia pulled herself up on the seat next to the teenager. "Name's Mia by the way."

Before answering, the girl broke eye contact with her conversational partner to consider the consequences of performing a truthful introduction. After a brief pause, she rolled her eyes and smack her gum louder. "People call me Cat."

"That's a cool name. Is it short for Catherine?"

"No." Cat frowned, sighed impatiently, and turned toward the window. "Is Mia short for Miasma? Because honestly you're starting to give me a headache." Clearly, the idea of a superficial small-talk annoyed the teenager. _You are a bit too old for a temper tantrum._ Much to Mia's dissatisfaction, Cat did not offer any additional information. After an awkward silence, Cat reflexively pulled the flaccid cord hanging above her head. _Are you really going to get off the bus because I sat down?_ "You may want to grab your stuff, this is your stop." Mia glanced out the window at the approaching highrise flats of Erin's apartment complex. _How the heck did you know that?_ Despite her curiosity, the young woman refrained from asking the question aloud.

"Thanks." Mia cleared her throat, though was entirely uncertain on how to properly say farewell to her recent acquaintance.

As the young musician stood to reclaim her possessions, Cat hurriedly reached out and grabbed Mia's hand. She withdrew her grasp, leaving the warm cufflink squarely in Mia's palm. Speechless, the woman stared down at the silver fastening. Gratitude gushed from Mia in the form of a smile, as she slipped the artifact safely into the pocket of her dress.

"Just be cool, alright? And don't hold up the bus. Some of us got places we need to be." Cat flipped her hood back up, spit her gum into her hand, and stuck the wad underneath her chair.

Without another word, Mia retrieved her guitar case and exited the coach. Slowly ascending the wet marbled stairs leading to the foyer of Erin's complex, Mia's eyes met Cat's one final time before the bus disappeared around the corner. _So yeah, that just happened._

Shaking her head, Mia greeted the doorman who only managed to halfheartedly tip his hat at her arrival. The musician boarded the elevator carriage with her instrument and pressed the button for the fifteen floor. Instinctively, she slipped her hand in her pocket to feel the cool surface of silver. Per the usual schedule, Mia imagined that Erin would be making her second cup of coffee. _It's going to smell so good. Ugh, maybe I should take a shower before I go to sleep._ If she were lucky, Mia would fall asleep immediately for the next few hours before heading into work again in the afternoon. _The shower can probably wait, I'm so beat._ The elevator sounded her arrival and the carriage opened. All the neighbors were still warmly tucked away in their beds as Mia pressed the key quietly into the lock and entered the loft.

 _That's strange._ Mia frowned, disappointed that the Professor did not greet her. With a sigh, she put her bag down and left the keys on the hallway end table. She walked into the living room and yawned. Erin was not yet awake. _Weird. Rough night, huh? Themis must have really tuckered her out._ All at once, Mia froze mid-yawn her eyes widening with astonishment. On the couch laid a naked man, his face pressed into the crevice of the couch. Atop the man's back rested the Professor, curled into a tight little ball of tuft. _Uh, um, well this is awkward. I guess Erin got lucky last night. Wait, wait, wait. Is that–_ A reflexive scream, hollow and high-pitched with disgust, passed her tongue and reverberated off the walls of the apartment. Recognition had a harrowing effect. Covering her eyes, Mia shielded her sight from Themis's bare buttocks. Awakened from the sudden raucous, Themis rolled off the couch. The Professor, equally as startled, screeched with fright and skittered out of sight into Erin's room.

Nearly tripping over the cat, Erin appeared at the door of her bedroom with her finger on the trigger of a pistol. "What!? Where is it!?"

Mia threw her arms in the air defensively. The words " _Don't shoot!"_ barreled through her mind, but all she could manage was a shriek in her brother's direction. "Why is he _naked_!?"

"Who?!" Erin looked around feverishly, her eyes finally falling on Themis who was now spread-eagled upon her living room floor. "Oh my god!"

Themis grabbed a pillow from the couch to cover his privates then proceeded to cover his ears. "For the love of God ladies, please stop screaming. I am sure you have seen a naked man before!" The man paused and squinted at his sister. "Except Mia, she's is and always will be a virgin. Right?"

"Did you two…?" Mia swallowed and put her hand on her forehead, ignoring for the moment her brother's distressing use of the double-standard. _Oh my God, my brother fucked my best friend._

"UGH– Really?! Of course not!" Erin spat with disgust at the very thought of fornication with a person like Themis. Calming down, Erin lowered her gun and took a few steps forward. "I have no idea why he's naked." Erin pinched the bridge of her nose and waved a hand at Themis, urging him to explain himself.

"I was hot and dirty, so I took my clothes off." Themis rubbed his head. Mia's frown deepened. Themis realized the pun in his words, and although it caused him great pain not to pursue it, he merely smirked at his sister and added, "In a nonsexual way. Get your mind out of the gutter–"

"Why is he even here? I thought you were going to take him home!" Mia asked Erin, a bit of strain in her voice. "You do understand that he's a-a… well, a whore... right?"

"I prefer the term _player_ , thank you." Themis smoothed out the pillow masking his privates.

"You may want to get tested, Erin. And seriously, please throw away that pillow. God, I sleep there!" Mia gestured at the cushion covering Themis's crotch, before running a hand through her hair and biting her lower lip. _This cannot be happening. Really, of all the people!_

"Could you at least pretend like I am in the room?" Themis scoffed.

"For Christ's sake, Mia, we did not have sex." Erin explained firmly. "It just seemed safer for us to stick together."

"Safer?" Mia pressed curiously. _Safer in what way?_

"Last night we were attacked by some sort of rabid creature. It was–" Erin elaborated, but eager for attention Themis interjected his own recounting of the situation.

"My God, Mia! It was insane! It all happened so fast. It was like a-a… Werewolf or something! Oh man was it pissed! We barely escaped with our lives!" Themis added, confusing Mia further. _Creature? Werewolf? Are they serious?_

"It tore up my car." Erin regain control of the conversation, but Themis's dramatic reaction only added to the absurdity of their story. _Oh, okay. I get it now. Make it into a joke, so I am not upset about it. Really, I guess I shouldn't be. What if Themis is just using my friend? Shit, what if Erin is using Themis? Could that even really work?_

"And it was _fucking_ massive! Like a bear! No, no! An ape of some sort!" Without thinking Themis excitedly brandished the pillow on his lap, causing the two other women to flinch away.

Mia stared at the two raving lunatics. "So, what you are telling me is... you two went to another bar, got fucking plastered, _crashed your ca_ r… Did I hear that right? Came home, then banged out your frustrations?" Mia turned to look at Erin directly and folded her arms. "Honestly, regardless of what happened, I expected this sort of thing from Themis, but Erin… really?"

"It's the truth." Themis argued, almost adopting a serious tone in Erin's defense.

"If that's the case, did you report it to the authorities?" Mia shook her head already knowing the answer. Erin placed her gun gently on the coffee table and sat down on the couch.

"Alright. Enough is enough." Erin began hastily. "There's no real point in hiding it, is there?" Themis cocked his head in confusion. "You're right, Mia. We did go out to another bar after we left your show. We were pissed about the whole affair and drank way more than we planned to. I drove us home, but on the way we hit a wall and I totaled my car. I made a reckless decision." Erin gritted her teeth and added for clarity, "But Themis and I did not have sex. I took him here to make sure that he wasn't suffering from a concussion. After all, I couldn't have driven him to a hospital, because I was too intoxicated."

Mia's features softened when she realized that the people she cared about the most had suffered a severe trauma. The way Erin recounted the scenario with ease, prompted Mia to believe the story and dismiss her prior agitations. "So are you two alright? Does Themis need to go to the hospital?"

Themis pointed at Erin. "You've got to be kidding– You were there! You saw it too! You weren't even drunk!"

"Are you listening to how ridiculous you sound?" Erin's tone was a string of barbed wire that wounded Themis's steadfastness. "Let's just call it what it is: I made a poor choice. You got hit on the head, and then we made up a shitty lie to try and get out of it. I just want to acknowledge it and move on." Something about the fluidity of Erin's declaration confused Mia, as if she were deliberately flippant about the whole situation. Her brother's reaction to the confession was equally as peculiar, for he seemed genuinely dismayed at the details. "Now, if you don't mind, maybe you can get some clothes on and show yourself out of my apartment? If you hurry, you can catch the next bus without waiting."

Betrayed, Themis stared fiercely at Erin before he stood up, drew himself to his full height, and tossed the pillow on the couch next to her. "If you are going to lie about it, at least say that we had sex." Mia stared at the ceiling, lost as to why the tension in the room was so thick. After dressing himself in the previous night's clothes, Themis walked backward so he could face Mia as he moved toward the door. "We actually did fuck a few times last night. I'd say it was good, but _I'd be lying_." His russet colored eyes flicked between his sister and her silent friend. "If you ever want to talk about it, Erin. You know, the creature," the man made an obscene gesture toward his genitals, "Feel free to give me a call."

"Watch out for werewolves." Mia snapped irritably at her brother. _See, this is exactly what I was worried about! He can be a real prick when he wants to be._

"Bite me." Themis responded with a snort from the hallway. The door slammed signaling his exit, which left the loft eerily quiet. Erin grabbed the pillow Themis had used to shield himself and chucked it across the room near the window. With peace restored, the Professor cautiously pranced his way into the living room. His bobbed tail twitched curiously as he sniffed and pawed at the cushion his owner had unknowingly discarded for his use.

"Are you going to be okay?" Mia asked Erin with a tinge of concern.

"I'm fine." Erin responded tersely, her eyes locked on her peculiar cat. The feline rubbed against the pillow affectionately, before finally flattening his ears and pouncing on it with capped claws. "Last night was just a blur."

"And you are sure the two of you didn't… You know? I mean, you can tell me–" Mia rubbed the back of her head.

"For someone who seems repulsed by the idea, you sure do love coming back to it." Erin closed her eyes and sighed heavily. "Again, since I was obviously not clear, I wouldn't touch your brother for any reason. Not that it is really any of your concern. We _are_ both adults."

Mia suddenly realized that her reaction to the interaction only moments ago may have come across as overtly judgmental and selfish, when in reality the young woman only meant to protect the both of them from each other. _I did not handle this well._

"That's... true. You're right I totally overreacted. I am just glad that neither of you were hurt and I trust that you can make your own decisions about– well, you know." Mia apologized and sat down awkwardly, but Erin stood up with a grunt. The woman swiped the gun off the end table and thoughtfully stared at the floor.

"You should get some rest." Erin suggested in a soft voice, her attention appeared to be elsewhere. "I need to make some phone calls." Mia watched her friend soundlessly depart the room, leaving her alone with the pillow-gnawing cat. _Please don't hold it against me._

Mia laid down on the couch, still dressed and semi-sticky from her crawl around the bus. Kicking off her shoes, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the cufflink with a sigh. _I'm doing my best to make sure everyone is okay. Isn't that all that matters?_ Carefully, she reached underneath Erin's couch and felt around for the hole in the lining. One of the many spots around the city where she could hide her precious treasures. Blindly, she felt the picture of her sister and the line of drying Billy Buttons from the day before. With one final look at the cufflink, Mia put the object under the couch upon the secret ledge for safekeeping.

* * *

The pocket knife, sharpened and polished, glinted brazenly upon the dashboard of the Toyota Sequoia. Moonlight pooled around the metal canister which had concealed it, only moments ago, beneath the driver's seat. James surveyed the dark, deserted location with weary eyes. In the rear view mirror, the Robert H. Kane Memorial Bridge blended into violet-hued shadows and encroaching fog. Pairs of cerulean lights at the top of the pillars blinked methodically while the dim glow of headlights signaled the final wave of evening traffic. A gentle wind brought the scent of the harbor toward the line of warehouses where the officer waited patiently.

The Warehouse District was a massive low-lying area of Kane County dedicated solely to the storage of imported goods. High-ceiling structures were constructed in a grid-like pattern, which resulted in rows upon rows of commercial real estate. The majority of the buildings, however, typically went unused. News reports blamed the collapsing economy, while other sources claimed the land was a Native American burial ground. The area was also rumored to be a front for smuggling stacks of cocaine into the country from Columbia. Unfortunately, James could not investigate the latter without a proper warrant. The Narcotics Department would have to handle that stream of paperwork– that is, if Detective Flass ever choose to look into the matter.

Clouds passed by the crescent moon, momentarily concealing James and his idling SUV. The officer retrieved the blade from the dashboard and ran his thumb over the smooth handle. Even without the guidance of light, James could read the inscription carved into the handle: _Great deeds are usually wrought at great risks._ In moments of trouble or doubt, he heard his father's voice faintly repeating those words to him. There was no greater truth. James rolled his shoulders and slipped the blade into the pocket of his jeans. Whenever he felt anxious about a case, the officer chose to bring the weapon along in good faith. Harvey called it superstition, but James cared little for his opinion on the subject. With a flick of his wrist, he turned off the Sequoia, jumped out onto the gravel, and adjusted his black t-shirt to conceal the gun resting in the waistband of his pants.

 _I don't want to arouse suspicion at the GAG meeting,_ James had admitted to Leslie at dinner earlier that night. _You won't. These types of meetings are relatively passive. Solemn even, but immensely compassionate. Though, it'd be best to dress you up in some civilian clothes. People are less likely to open up if they think there is a cop there to judge them._ James checked his watch, it was only half past nine. _I'm never good with these types of… emotional meetings. That's your element, not mine._ The Warehouse District was an odd place to hold a gathering for gambling addicts. Law-abiding citizens did not usually venture out in the late evening to seek therapy amongst cargo containers. _Won't Harvey be with you though?_ James circled a building, pretending to look lost. There were, after all, no numbers on the structures. _No, Harvey is handling our paperwork in the prescient tonight._ James realized with a sudden frown that he truly was lost amongst the warehouses.

Having waited nearly a week for the Gothamites Against Gambling meeting, James was worried that perhaps the informational flyer was incorrect or outdated. The sound of footsteps hitting the gravel at a sprint caused the hairs on his neck to bristle. The environment had already put him on edge, but now there was an unknown person in the vicinity. With each passing second, James became more and more convinced that no meeting existed and he stumbled upon a trap. He pulled his gun, aiming it into the shadows, as the culprit rounded the corner.

"Jesus! James! It's me! I told you not to pull your gun out. You are a gambler, not a cop remember?"

"Leslie!" James hissed through clenched teeth. His hands were steady, but his heart pounded. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to help you, of course." Leslie smiled, gesturing to her modest green dress and flats. "We are a couple, slowly gambling away our life savings. We are hoping for the next big pay out. But I've been overcome with guilt and–"

"You need to go home. _Now_. How did you even get here?" James tucked his gun back into his waistband, set his jaw, and peered around the corner to ensure that they were alone.

"By taxi. What? Don't give me that look! You said you needed me." Leslie folded her arms across her chest in protest.

Raising an eyebrow, James shook his head. "When did I say..." _I'm never good with these types of… emotional meetings. That's your element, not mine._ "Oh no, no. I didn't mean for you to follow me here!" In frustration, the officer smacked his forehead and put the palms of his hands on her shoulders tenderly.

"I'm here now though. Besides, there is no point in wasting a good cover story right?" Leslie smirked in jest. Her playful attitude did nothing to quell the annoyance tensing his abdomen and neck muscles.

"I already told you. Numerous times. Work and our relationship need to be separate. This isn't a game, Lee. Certainly, this isn't the place for this conversation either." James stared into her chestnut brown eyes, which reflected the pale glow of the moon. Attempting to be firm, but fair, with the woman he loved was the most difficult task he faced at present.

"How dangerous can a couple of recovering gamblers be–"

"You folks lost?" A voice and beam of white light dissolved their dispute almost entirely.

"Oh! Yes. Sir, perhaps you could help us?" Leslie called out pleasantly, though James refused to loosen his grip on her shoulder. Protectively, the officer stepped between her and the approaching stranger. The defensive stance became instantly irrelevant, as an elderly man slowly emerged from the shadows. His left eye was glazed over with a waxy film, while the other stared unnaturally toward the celestial heavens. Scars decorated his wrinkled arms and face, and his back was curved with severe scoliosis. Hanging loosely from his bones was the pressed and buttoned uniform of a watchman; around his neck dangled an identification card that neither James nor Leslie could easily confirm. The woman grabbed the flyer sticking out of James's rear pocket and held it up for the man to verify. "We are looking for the GAG meeting. You know… for _gamblers_. Do you know where it is?"

The withered man stared pensively at Leslie for a while, but then turned his attention exclusively to James. "That meeting is not currently taking any more members. Allow me to please escort you to the road."

"We really need the help though! We are in dire straits." Leslie continued, but James cleared his throat and drew himself to full height.

"Apologies my wife can get a tad hysterical." Leslie shot her partner an icy side-glance, but he continued with a slight smile. "Our good friend, Glover Wash, recommended the group to us. Said that it was worth a visit." The lie appeared to intrigue the watchman, who then surveyed Leslie with his single vision.

"Wash, you say? Hm, eh, well– women don't normally attend these sorts of events. Did Wash happen to tell you that?" The man grumbled out the words, as if each syllable caused him great pain. Leslie wrung her hands together, concerned by the idea that women were not attending therapy a regular basis as equal peers, but James silenced her with a playful nudge.

"This is a different kind of lady." James winked at the watchman, but he was unsure of whether or not the man actually caught the gesture.

After licking his gums, the skeleton waved them on with a grunt. "I suppose if you are friends with Wash, then you are welcome to attend. Step lightly, this way."

For twenty minutes, the watchman led them through the maze of warehouses using his flashlight to frighten away the rats gnawing on the stacks of robust trash bags. The rodents skittered away into the night, but returned as soon as the threat had departed. An odor of decay hung in the air, masked only by the gases perfuming from oyster beds. Holding their breath, they arrived at their uninspiring destination: a building with large paneled doors and tinted windows. Light streamed through the cracks of the door and the sound of dogs barking echoed faintly from within.

"Take care now. They've only just begun." Their guide departed, falling back into the shadows of the commercial lot without another word.

Using caution, James pried opened the doors and peered inside the building. An arena crafted entirely from chain link fence and barbed wire stood in the middle of the warehouse with hundreds of people perched upon makeshift bleachers. The audience hemmed and hawed at the bright vested bet takers scurrying about the room. Dozens of dogs barked from within their cramped kennels. Leslie stifled a small cry of shock as she solemnly followed James into the illegal gambling establishment. Upon the back wall, in mustard yellow paint, read: _Gotham's Animalistic Gladiators_. A man spray painted a pink twenty three onto the rear of his muzzled pitbull, as Leslie and James delved their way deeper into the smoky, dimly lit room.

"What is this place?" Leslie asked mournfully.

"It appears to be a front for illegal gambling. Keep your voice down though. Here comes someone." James wrapped an arm around Leslie's waist and braced himself for the act.

"Bets! Bets! Place 'em here, place 'em now!" A robust gentleman with a cigar hanging from his mouth, a fedora dipped over his eyes, and tickets of all colors flaying in his hands approached the young couple. "How about you, good man?"

"What looks good tonight?" James asked casually.

"Michael Lynch brought in a rot-pit mix. Handsome animal. Safe odds on the dog. Bet on red, they always say!"

"I'm more of risk taker." James replied, his mind shifting to the blade nestled comfortably in his pocket.

"Ah, now that's more my style! Keepin' things lively. We got a mutt, what looks sick and mangy, but the bitch's got a nasty bite." The bet taker showed the couple the bloody bandages wrapped around his hand. "Odds are twelve to one for a win. She's got it in 'er though."

Feigning indecisiveness, James looked to Leslie for a contribution. "Sounds like it could be a big win, huh honey? I'll shell in for both of us, what do ya say?" The man taking bets barely noticed Leslie's unresponsiveness, while James pulled thirty dollars from his wallet. The young medical examiner chewed on her lower lip and turned her gaze toward the rafters.

"You got yourself a good ol' woman there, pal. Most broads would rather nag ya about yer gamblin'." The man's smile broadened as he scribbled down the bet, received the payment and returned a stub to James.

"I was wondering, have you've seen Grover lately. Seems like my old friend just fell off the face of the earth." James lied casually. At his side, he felt Leslie reach for his hand and their fingers entwined.

The bet taker rubbed his face, smearing ink onto his cheek. " _Grover_ … Grover. Ah, yeah! Wash! I haven't seen him here for quite a time. Real shame. Best dogs came from him."

"This is vile." Leslie whispered through her teeth as James thanked the bet taker and returned to surveying the audience with her. "I can't believe you just put money into their pockets."

"We can't raise suspicion. I don't like it anymore than you do. Just try to focus on blending in by pretending that you are having a good time." James realized his mistake a moment to late.

" _A good time_? I can't even begin to imagine how a woman might devolve herself to such a level by having a good time here. Besides, we've already raised suspicion. I am the only woman in the place." With glassy eyes, Leslie observed the animals barking at their masters with a heavy heart.

"Nonsense. Look, over there. There are a bunch of women." James timidly pointed at a group of women gathered at a table with a pair of esteemed businessmen. Each one presented more flesh than the last; their clothing appeared to be a daunting, societal necessity. Gloss sparkled upon their lips as they whispered and laughed with their guests. A particularly lovely example with fishnet stockings and a crimson corset sat on the arm of one of the man's chairs, stroking his inner thigh.

"Those are shot girls... or dancers. I can't tell. That one looks underage though." Leslie gasped with disgust.

"Does that man to the right look familiar to you?" James asked. He avoided colliding with a stumbling intoxicated man, but continued to study the businessman across the room. His aquiline smirk, broad shoulders, and serpentine eyes conjured up an uncontrollable tenseness in James. "I, I think that's Richard Sionis. He should be in prison!"

"What happened to keeping your voice down." Leslie chided maliciously.

The screech of a microphone brought their attention back to the center arena. An announcer slurred into an adrenaline induced spiel. Bets were closed and the crowd roared louder as an air horn blared from the speakers. Reflexively, James covered his ears and Leslie leaned closer to her protector. Five men released their unmuzzled rottweilers and pitbulls into the ring, their jaws snapping in hunger and aggression. The fanatics lining the makeshift stands stamped their feet and cheered eagerly as the round of dogs ripped into their opponents' throats. Blood splattered the plastic tarp beneath their paws. Men with cruel smiles stuck cattle prods through the fence, antagonizing the animals who chose to cower; tails tucked between their legs, the shivering creatures were forced back into the fury. A square-shoulder man with a black bristled mustache, but a clean shaven head, grabbed a spare rod and jammed it into the kennels to agitate the next set of dogs.

"James!" Leslie clenched her fists and drew herself upon her tiptoes. "We need to do something!"

Before the officer could respond, an unexpected tap happened upon his shoulder. "Pardon me, mister. You got a minute? Word is you know Grover Wash. That true?" Dirty blond dreadlocks draped the stranger's face and although James had a solid four inches on the man, his arms bulged with an impressive strength.

"Well, he referred my wife and I to this location." James gestured to Leslie, but she was no longer beside him. "You'll have to excuse me, my–" The stranger sucker punched the undercover police officer in the face, sending him spiraling to the floor.

None of the spectators stopped their howling to break up the dispute. Flashes of light flickered across James's line of vision. Dizzy and confused, his first thought drifted to Leslie's safety. Blinking away the stars and comets clouding his visual perception, James caught sight of his companion bickering vehemently with the bald man torturing the dogs. Unable to hear their squabble, the young officer was sure only of the fact that Leslie had broken character and their safety was compromised. The assailant rounded on James and grabbed him up by the front of his shirt.

"Wash is a dead man! You tell that son of a bitch that he's gonna pay Al Maroni back every nickel 'n dime, or he'll find himself comin' out the backside of one of his own dogs!" The stranger's foul breath distressed James more than the actual threat.

Nearby, Leslie wrestled the cattle prod from the torturer and turned the electrical end upon him. By this time, only a single dog paced the diameter of the arena. Mangled and limping, the beast let loose a single howl before his master claimed him. Men clambered over one another for their pay out and to place their next bets. The escalating situation called for drastic measures, James withdrew the gun from his waistband and pushed it into the face of his attacker.

In a voice louder than the roar of the feverish crowd, "GCPD! You are all under arrest for intentional animal cruelty, illegal gambling, and trespassing!"

There was, of course, no way that James and Leslie could detain the mob of people in the warehouse. Rather than arrest the entire group, the officer settled for disrupting the nights' recreational event and generating a distraction large enough to give him the upper hand. Predictably, a stampede of gamblers immediately ensued. The businessmen were the first to vanish, while others drunkenly skittered their way through windows or side exits. Barks and snarls culminated into an unholy crescendo, as the tortured beasts scrambled to free themselves from their cells. The man holding James hurriedly dropped him and held up his hands in defense.

"Wash sent the cops!?"

Meanwhile, Leslie jabbed the cattle prod toward the bald man's mustache, who flinched, but upon noticing the gun in James's hands dared not run or seek revenge on the woman.

"On the ground!" James ordered. When the man in front of him made no motion to comply, the officer took a step forward and shouted louder. "I said get _on the ground_!"

"Same goes for you." Leslie piped up bravely, thrusting the cattle prod toward the cornered bald man. From all sides of the room, dogs rattled their cages and barked at the unfolding frenzy. Unable to foresee another option, the two captives obeyed the orders.

"Your name?" James prompted, quickly patting the man down for weapons. The officer pulled a butterfly knife from the suspect's jacket pocket, but left the cigarettes and lighter behind.

"Ain't you suppos'ta read me my rights or somethin'?" The man hissed like a cobra trapped inside a charmer's basket.

"Getting punched in the face has thinned my patience. You've assaulted a police officer and unless you cooperate, all I can say is that you'll be enjoying your right to a locked cell before the week is over. Now what's your name?" James repeated sternly.

After a deliberate pause, the lion of a man blew a dread lock from his forehead and forced an admission through clenched teeth, "Wayne Sharp."

The name did not sound altogether legitimate, but James had neither the patience nor the time to argue over false identities. The brief mention of a potentially, blood-thirsty moneylender held more importance to him. After all, the Maroni family was not known for their financial generosity or benignity. Ending up on the wrathful side of a crime boss resulted in hours of torture and, in most cases, a brutal execution. The officer knelt beside his composed suspect, inconspicuously glancing toward Leslie. They must have misjudged her for a cop, for the bald man laying prone at her feet offered only cooperation and restraint.

"So Wash was indebted to Al Maroni?" James inquired harshly.

Irritated and confused by the seemingly irrelevant question, Wayne strained to squint up at James from the urine and blood soaked floor. "What should that matter? It's not illegal to lend a fella some spare change every now and again."

"How much money did he owe?" James continued.

"That bastard _owes_ seventy grand. Al always gets his money back, so there ain't no point in runnin' like a coward. I can't believe he went to the police." Wayne's face grew red at the thought of such a betrayal. " _That dick!_ "

"Watch your mouth." James warned, though the chastisement was more a courtesy for Leslie than for himself. "I don't know how Maroni expects to get any money from a corpse. Seems like a bit of a rash decision, don't you think?"

"Dead? Wait! Wash is dead?" Wayne appeared genuinely surprised. Forgetting that he was in police custody, Wayne called out to his counterpart on the opposite side of the room. "Darrell! Can you believe it? Grumblin' Gamblin' Grover is dead!"

"I'll believe it when I see a body!" Darrell, the bald man, responded.

"Quiet down now." Leslie ordered with a ferocity that surprised even James. "Tell me, Darrell, who owns this ring?" When the man at her feet fell silent, Leslie tested the cattle prod near his ear. The electric buzz violently crackled falling dangerously close Darrell's cheek.

"The Maroni family orchestrates it for the most part!" The bald man closed his eyes and swallowed. "Could you get that thing out of my face?"

"You loud mouthed squealer. Al'll crucify you!" Wayne shouted nearly jumping to his feet, but James held the criminal down between the shoulder blades.

"Just like he crucified Wash?" James suggested.

"What?! No, no! You don't understand, Wash was good business! Every week, he supplied us with dogs from the Kane County Animal Shelter. No questions asked! Wash was good for diplomacy too. Personally ran his own animal welfare fundraisers, which he funneled into this place." Wayne took a few deep breaths before adding, "Al definitely wouldn't have killed Grover!"

"What am I to make of your death threat before then?" James surveyed Leslie's situation one more time before turning his full attention to the man on the floor.

"It was an empty threat! A scare tactic! When he hadn't shown up with any dogs for a few weeks, we figured he bailed. We rely on him to keep this business going. It's how he was paying off Al."

"And _I'm_ the squealer?" Darrell barked irritably, but was swiftly silenced by a brandish of Leslie's weapon.

"Enough! The two of you are coming with me." James pulled a pair of zip ties from his pocket, secured Wayne's hands behind his back, then moved to Darrel, who he patted down, ushered away from Leslie's cattle prod, and bound effortlessly. "Don't waste any more of my time. Move it." Leading the two men through the labyrinth of warehouses, James noticed stragglers grappling to distinguish their immediate location in an attempt to escape. Arriving at the Sequoia, the officer wrenched open the backseat and hurled the suspects unsympathetically into the vehicle.

"What about all the dogs?" Leslie asked sadly. In the distance, James distinctly heard a faint hymn of howls.

"I'm going to call for a team to come sweep the place. They will probably bring Animal Control with them." James slammed the car door and withdrew his phone.

"Animal Control!" Her voice was strained. "You may as well kill them yourself!"

"Why am I the bad guy here? I didn't plan for any of this to happen. If anything, I've done everything in my power to protect you while working this case. _My case._ Once again, you've put me in a difficult position–" The pain in James's jaw worsened, when he realized that Leslie was already on her phone briskly negotiating with the local Humane Society. Shaking his head, James turned away selected Harvey from his address book. After several rings, there was a soft click followed by a chesty cough.

"For the last hour, I've been writing out the surname Harrison, when it should have been Garrison. You better have some good news for me." Harvey answered sweetly.

"There is about to be plenty more paperwork on your table. Could you have dispatch send a crew out to the Warehouse District? Along with Animal Control?" James requested.

"You found the Chimichurri?" Excitedly, Harvey shifted the phone from one ear to the other.

"No. Leslie and I stumbled upon an illegal dog fighting ring. There are about forty dogs here and they will need to be removed from the premises." James explained flatly. "I might have a lead though. What do you know about an Al Maroni?"

"Did you say Thompkins was with you?" Harvey tried to clarify, but James repeated his question. "Right. Hold on for just one second, would you Jim? While I consult my _Maroni encyclopedia_." There was a dramatic rustling of papers and a series of elusive thuds, before Harvey returned to the microphone with a solemn voice. "Sorry, I seemed to have misplaced my reading glasses."

"I'll assume that means you aren't familiar with him then?" James thumped the rear window, in an attempt to calm the heated argument forming between his two passengers.

"We might know someone who is privy to such information though." Harvey offered simply. The answer, however, was not ideal; working with Oswald Cobblepot often led to more complications than solutions. Information was a valuable currency in Gotham and the seedy nightclub owner never gave away his knowledge for free.

"See what you can find out." James begrudgingly agreed.

"You got it. The little shit is probably up to some sort of trouble anyway. I'll track him down in the morning." The desk bound officer sucked air through his teeth, "Damn, paper cut."

* * *

Licking the tip of his index finger, Oswald diligently flipped the page of the morning's newspaper to A3. Ceiling fans oscillated lazily above the customers waiting in line for their caffeinated beverages at The Busy Bean Café. Between the headlines and a slew of advertisements, a cheerful barista had placed a ceramic mug of tea on Oswald's table–Earl Grey adorned with a thick wedge of lemon. The young man, however, ignored this superior service, choosing instead to remain purposefully oblivious to the environment roiling about the coffeehouse. The cellphone in his breast pocket had vibrated several times over the course of an hour, but Oswald paid the calls no mind. Harvey Bullock, the wanton detective, was not worth meddling with before nine in the morning. The officer's crass, aggressive behavior often coaxed Oswald into a bout of foul humor, and the nightclub manager hoped to present nothing less than a debonaire demeanor during his meeting with Dr. Howard Carter that morning. _Murder. Murder. Rape. Robbery. Murder. Potential political scandal? Murder. Since the dawn of time, man has killed man and somehow we still find a tantalizing pleasure in talking about it. Deplorable waste of time._

Frigid cyan eyes scanned over a particularly uninspiring headline: _Kane County's Canine Case_. The name of the arresting officer, however, tickled Oswald's interest. _Officer_ _James Gordon uncovered the illegal dog fighting ring last night while pursuing evidence in a separate homicide case._ Unlike Harvey, James proved to be quite a valuable asset. Although the hero's dignity and self-righteousness irked him on occasion, Oswald was always willing to admit he owed his life to James's level-headed compassion. More importantly, mercy was a manipulable quality that the nightclub owner was willing to exploit for his own benefit. Oswald read the article in full, taking a pause to sip his tea. _It is an absolute wonder the GCPD has only just addressed that awful mess. That said, the Maroni family certainly will not be pleased with Jim over such an affair._ His phone, long silent, buzzed once with an abrupt forcefulness then slumbered again. _Bullock is resorting to texts now? The brute hardly knows how to string a sentence together._

With a sigh, Oswald laid down the newspaper, fumbled for his cell, and checked the queue of messages with placid resignation. _Six missed calls from Detective Bullock and…_ a text from an unknown number. Intrigued, the young man selected the message with a raised eyebrow.

" _Could I come into work early today?"_

The mystery was solved before Oswald had any chance to savor the puzzle. None of his current employees, save one, cared much about their work. Further still, the staff were far too cowardly to ever contact their manager directly with such blatant nonsense. Oswald considered disregarding the request altogether. After all, why should he waste his time catering to Mia's frivolous inclinations? What inspired her to bother him relentlessly? Who was foolish enough to loan out his private number? Returning the Earl Gray tea to the table, Oswald felt compelled to uncover this latter tidbit for future reference.

 _"Who gave you this number?"_ Oswald replied sternly. _Butch? Stuart? Angelo? Who is the loose-lipped whistler that I will need to watch for future betrayals?_ Reading the question over again, he began to feel the tone was overtly abrasive. _Oh, why should I care if she is offended? Perhaps, she will finally give up this act and leave me to my devices._ An ebb of illogical guilt rebuked his apathy, as Oswald imagined Mia quitting the nightclub business altogether. _The circumstances shall not come to that. Settle down. Though, there was a time, not so long ago, I would have exclaimed with joy to have her leave._ The screen lit up.

 _"It's on your business card."_ The reply infuriated Oswald beyond recognition; for it was no one's fault but his own that he was distracted from his morning research. _Just tell her she cannot come early and be done with it._ Anger pulsed through him to his fingertips, as he crafted a heated, slanderous comment fit to defame Mother Theresa. Before he completed his rage, another text notification appeared in the banner. _"Sorry if I bothered you. I forgot you like your mornings quiet."_

The moment of wrath subsided and he begrudgingly deleted the odious composition mustered on Mia's behalf. Oswald sat dumbly in his chair, wondering which manner of response was more appropriate. _Do not assume you know my preferences. Wait, no. Try another approach. No bother at all. Quite pleasant to hear from you actually. Of course, you may come early to work._ _No! No! What do gentlemen say to ladies these days? I must have completely gone mad. Respond to her as you would normally. Restrain yourself though, impoliteness is a heinous quality in a young man._ After a profound internal struggle, Oswald turned off his phone without answering Mia's question and returned the slab of technology to his pocket. Avoiding all possibilities of conversational entanglement was his only safe strategy.

Leaving the half-empty cup of Earl Gray unfinished, Oswald rolled up the newspaper and exited the cafe to fill his head with noise from the city. Taxi drivers blared their horns and the percussion of a jackhammer echoed off the urban walls. _Metropolises, like dreams, are an integration of a desires and fears. The thread of every discourse is surreptitious, the governing bodies and police authority absurd. Their perspectives are deceitful and everything conceals something else._ Ink from the print coated the man's moist palms. Across the street, Oswald watched as a man stooped, picked up a wallet from the sidewalk, and slipped it into his trousers. _The higher the skyline, the lower the morals!_ Rather than dwell on ineffectual emotions, the manager crossed the street to initiate his meeting with Dr. Carter. _What a glorious place I live! Where I might enjoy the comforts of heaven, but deal with devils upon the street._

Steadying his gait, Oswald leaned upon his umbrella and limped up the whitewashed steps toward the museum's expansive, brightly lit atrium. After an entire week of pleading over the phone, Dr. Carter eventually convinced the nightclub owner to accept his invitation to discuss business at the Museum of Antiquities. _Desperate men pay handsomely for their coveted fancies, and Howard seems especially desperate these days._ The cadaverous old woman at the ticket counter waved the young man on without a second glance. _Good morning to you too, Bertha._ Oswald smiled sweetly at the decaying receptionist, his glance falling over the throng of uniformed students filtering into the entrance hall. Relatively well-behaved, the private school children lined up in rows waiting for permission to enter the maze of exhibits. _It is certainly refreshing to see the system educating our youth on the humanities. What a pity that I should have suffered in public school. Oh, but then how would you have met_ – Narrowing his eyes, Oswald hurriedly shoved the thought from his mind.

The monolithic, silver plated clock positioned above the atrium ticked toward quarter past nine. _I'm early. I wonder if Howard will have me wait._ A few of the museum's octogenarians shuffled dutifully through the halls shining the displays. _In a moment's time, a hoard of greasy fingers will storm passed the gates and your efforts will have been for naught. A bitter reminder of Thermopylae amongst the Persian artifacts. Splendidly ironic._ Oswald's polished shoes clicked against the reflective pink marble in tandem with the stride of his umbrella. Invaluable artifacts from periods long forgotten adorned the walls and packed the display cases; ancient golden relics from Egypt and Mesopotamia glittered under an artificial light. _Perhaps I had been too hasty to leave this place. I had nearly forgotten my fascination for this sort of history._

In the central room, artifacts from nineteenth century Australia, centered predominantly around the conflict between aboriginal and colonial life, replaced the exhibit on Salvador Dali. Fiber and bark containers from the first Australians caught the businessman's attention along with photographs from an anthropologist named Herbert Basedow. Curious, Oswald weaved through the materials settling his sights on a wooden shield. The golden plaque beneath the object read: _This_ _Kurdiji, or shield, is decorated with symbols pertaining to dreams or song. This honor was bestowed upon an adolescent male during a traditional ceremony, whereby he would then enter the thralls of manhood._ History fascinated Oswald, possibly because he did not know much of his own familial ancestry. _Is this what makes a man? A brittle shield left to no one upon the death of its owner. Pity. I shall see to it my contributions are far grander._ Gertrud Kapelput never once commented on the enigmatic subject of her son's paternal lineage. The mother was embarrassed, no doubt, to admit the flaws of her past.

 _Where did my father go, mother? You were a cherub given to me by warm zephyrs. Ah you are such a marrrrrvelous boy! But what of my father then? Whyevers should you need a faver when you haff me darling?_ Despite his mother's best distractions, Oswald was not completely ignorant of the circumstances. Information was available for those willing to visit a local library. Kapelput sounded immensely similar to Cobblepot: a name the people of Gotham associated with mayors, judges, and other influential individuals. Although Gertrud disguised it with her eccentric flourish, she was not altogether clever. The money for their cozy apartment and his rearing did not manifest from thin air. Unfortunately, Oswald could only hazard a guess or two as the deserter's identity. Adopting the anglicized name for himself, the young man determined that his success was the surest way to attract their attention. The surname was a part of Gotham's past and undoubtedly its future; when the time came, those who abandoned Oswald and his mother would attempt to worm their way out of obscurity in order to earn his favor. _They will find no forgiveness. Who needs a shield and acceptance when you have immeasurable power and knowledge?_

A pig-faced adolescent with a crop of ginger hair appeared at Oswald's side, pushing his forehead unnecessarily against the glass case containing the shield. _Does the piece need such scrutiny? I shall never understand children._ The boy's heavy breathing irked the businessman, who maliciously propped his umbrella behind the juvenile. As the boy turned to return to his group, he stumbled over the obstacle and collided with another display. The glass case toppled over with a splintering clash. Other students began to cackle at the mishap, which caused the victim's crimson face to explode into a fit of tears. Subduing a laugh himself, Oswald victoriously moved to the adjacent room. Satisfied, he examined a few more noteworthy pieces before heading to the curator's office.

Predictably, Dr. Howard Carter did not allow his guest to wait unnecessarily with the secretary. Rather, Oswald was hastily ushered into the familiar office by a man he barely recognized. The curator appeared thinner with shallow eyes and uncombed hair. _Letting yourself go. Tsk, tsk, my good man! You have fallen to shards in my absence. All over a few pieces of pottery?_ Oswald noticed the addition of a large bronze cage near the rear window. Behind the gilded bars, perched a petite brown bird with trailing tail feathers and glittering eyes. The creature ruffled at the intruder's entrance and climbed to a perch closer to the top of the cage. _What sort of bird is that? This is a museum, not a zoo!_

Howard smiled graciously and offered his guest a seat at the desk. "I hope you've been well, Mr. Cobblepot." Oswald dismissively waved his hand reverting his gaze from the bird back to his haggard client.

"Let's skip the formalities. What is this _urgent_ business you require?" Oswald sat down and retrieved a golden pen from his jacket. The move was a mistake on his part, for upon touching the instrument his thoughts began drifting toward the woman awaiting his reply.

 _Do you label all your pens or is that one special? This was actually a gift to myself when I opened the nightclub downtown. It seemed professional._ Sitting comfortably in the office chair, Oswald felt his heart begin to race and his palms grew damp. The memory played out unapologetically. Mia asked him for an audition, and his response was the regrettably the same. Changing the past was not, after all, a feasible possibility. Although not much had changed between them since that moment, Oswald found Mia held more presence in his thoughts as of late.

"I was unnecessarily brash last we met. My temper often gets the better of me." The curator begrudgingly apologized, "If you'll have it, I feel the need to make amends by fulfilling the payment for the last artifact I had you procure."

"That's absurd. I never delivered it to you formally." Oswald scratched the side of his face distractedly. _Clearly, I am distressed. It is obvious is it not? Why you think of her all the time? Lie to everyone else, but you cannot lie to yourself._

"I would at least like to pay you for your time then." Howard offered a toothy grin and pulled forth a suitcase and placed it on the desk. With particular emphasis, the curator revealed the case's innards: stacks of unmarked bills.

Oswald barely glanced at the token of gratitude. _I have treated her so poorly too. Blaming her for the brutish acts that her brother commits. Punishing her good works and efforts. Spurning her advances. I could change my behavior. Play the proper gentlemen, perhaps, if it is not too–_ The bird unleashed into a chorus of song; whistles and chirps strung together so methodically that Oswald was in immediate disbelief that any such sound was produced by a fowl. Shifting from foot to foot, the bird settled on a peculiar noise that distinctly resembled the trickle of a babbling brook.

"I do not recall you having a bird the last time I was here." Oswald replied suddenly.

"No." The curator smiled, sitting down and sliding the briefcase closer to his contractor. "An old friend procured it for me, while he was gathering up the aboriginal display in Darwin. Spectacular isn't it? They call it a lyrebird."

"It seems unique enough." Oswald admitted with a shrug, though he hoped the curator expanded further.

"Oh, the lyrebird is a charming little creature with an amazing memory. Each one has its own repertoire of different songs. The males dance for the females, putting on quite a handsome display. They are said to be the poets of the avian world!" _Such a shame that the creature should be shipped thousands of miles to sit captive in a cage._ Guilt gnawed at Oswald for the bitterness he had shown toward his own songbird. A childhood friend willingly came to him and roosted in his nest, yet Oswald had not the common decency to reply to her digital messages.

"Charming." Oswald sniffed and turned back to the suitcase. _Deal with Mia later. For now, it is about business._ "This is quite generous, but I cannot help thinking you have an ulterior motive in calling me here today."

"That is perceptive of you. And, it is, I confess, the truth." Howard leaned back in his chair.

"On with it then." Oswald clipped the suitcase closed and pulled it onto his lap. He swore he heard the bird mimic the exact sound shortly thereafter.

"Two weeks ago, a rumor reached my ear that there is a woman in Little Ethiopia that has a particularly rare artifact, known as the Eye of Ra, for sale. A golden scarab with emerald and serpentine inlay, estimated at nearly fifty million dollars. The history of the piece, however, is priceless." _Fifty million dollars?! How would anyone from Little Ethiopia come into an item of such value?_

"Even if you could come up with that sort of money," Oswald propped his head up with his arm, "you obviously already know where it is... Why do you need me?"

"A rumor may be just a rumor! I need you to find and authenticate the scarab, after which– Fret not, Mr. Cobblepot, I can show you what to look for– after which, I will require you to negotiate the terms of the sale. I am prepared to spend twelve million on the piece."

"Whatever happened to its pricelessness?" Oswald sneered at the curator's outlandish proposal. "If the artifact is worth four times your budget, no merchant in their right mind will sell it for a sum so low." _Furthermore, I will not be made to look a fool. Every fence in Gotham will catch word of this disaster and I shall become the laughing stock of the Black Market._

"Make it the deal of the century then!" Dr. Carter raised his hands to an invisible deity. "But I must have it!"

Oswald drummed his thin fingers against the arm of his chair considering the man's request. "And what do I get out of this?"

"What do you want?" Howard's eyes flashed excitedly.

After a brief consideration, Oswald folded his hands over his stomach. "Three million dollars. Twenty percent in advance."

"It's yours." The curator agreed almost too quickly for Oswald's comfort. _This scarab means that much to you, Dr. Carter?_

"In an _offshore_ account." Oswald specified with raised eyebrows.

"Of course, of course. Whatever you want." Howard adjusted his tie and smoothed his hair back. _Whatever I want? Where is the man that nearly combusted with fury at the idea of a twenty percent increase in my prices?_

"Unlimited access to the museum's records." Oswald demanded. _If I may have all that I wish, then I choose to have exorbitant amounts of leisure at your expense._

"Done." Howard replied unblinkingly. "Will that be all?"

Oswald sat contented for a moment, his piercing eyes alight with exhilaration. A harrowing frown slowly replaced his victorious smile. The promise of riches and unbridled information was, on any other day, a successful venture. What good were these profits, however, if he continued to plague himself over Mia? _I have spent so long trying to hate her, and it has resulted only in my own dissemblance._ To enjoy the fruits of his labor and retain his sanity, Oswald concluded that he needed to first find peace within his relationship with Mia.

"And I want the bird. Now, as a gratis of sorts." Oswald smiled up at the ceiling. The curator cocked his head in an expression of genuine confusion.

"The lyrebird?" Howard looked at the caged avian behind him. "I-I suppose. Seems to be quite an odd request."

"Do we have an agreement then?" When the curator nodded, Oswald stood and reached over to shake his client's firm hand. "Have someone drop the bird off at my nightclub this afternoon."

"Might I be so bold as to inquire why you may want a bird at a nightclub?" Howard asked casting a solemnly glance at his lost pet.

"I am going to offer it as a form of apology." Oswald explained moving to inspect the specimen in closer detail. The two longest of the tail feathers curled around to form a shape similar to the contour of a lyre. Preemptively, the delicate fowl cooed a warning before flapping its wings at Oswald.

"My, my, my. The _grand_ Mr. Cobblepot knows humility? Great men only waver their dignity to the fairer sex. Is she a Venus?" Howard queried with a playful smirk. The two men could have been friends, had their temperaments not ignited them into spontaneous bouts of passion. _Venus! Oh, Dr. Carter, you have not a clue. The woman is both angel and devil to me._

"Much less wrathful than Venus." Oswald caught himself, realizing that sharing such deep fantasies with a client may result in trouble later on down the line. Moreover, the man himself was not entirely prepared to accept such feelings aloud. "More of a friend, you see. You actually know her." Oswald attempted to shift the subject away from himself. "She worked here in the museum, Mia Mimidae. Shamefully, I admit I stole her right from under you. She has become a singer at my club. In all honesty though, she is a much better singer than a docent."

Confused, the curator cleared his throat, "I beg your pardon, Mr. Cobblepot, but no one by that name has ever worked in my museum."

"That's ludicrous. Of course she did. I reconnected with her here." Oswald explained with an uncomfortable laugh, turning away from the bird to focus on the curator directly.

"I remember every intern, docent, secretary, and janitor who has worked within these walls since I became curator here seven years ago. Everyone sits in that chair for their interview. And I can _assure_ you, that I have never hired a _Mia Mimidae_." Howard rapped on his desk steadfastly.

"What are you saying?" Oswald growled, his knuckles fading to a bloodless white as he gripped onto the handle of the suitcase. His shoulders trembled with anger and disbelief. _I knew it! Those glances, those tireless nights at work were not for my affections._ Although Oswald had formed a conclusion, he needed the curator to confirm the judgment.

"You appear to have stumbled across a lie." Carter steepled his fingers, amused by the nightclub owner's embarrassment. _What sense it all makes! A viper in the form of a songbird, steals its way in my humble empire to cripple or assassinate me. To think I have squandered away precious hours and sanity at her expense! Whose revenge plot has taken her for a pawn? Carmine? Fish?! Oh, this has Fish written all over it._

"Indeed. It appears I need to investigate this matter right away." Externally, Oswald reflected a collected disposition, but internally he seethed with contempt and bitterness. "If that is all the business you have for me, I will take my leave."

"Indeed, that is all." The curator stated pleasantly, watching as his guest moved intently for the door. "Shall I still send the bird then?"

"Yes." Oswald snarled, clenching his fists and snapping the office door open. The nightclub manager stalked through the museum, murderous ideas boiling from the deepest parts of his soul. _No one lies to me. I know every secret in Gotham! How did I allow this happen? Have gone soft? So content with my life that I have allowed others to blind me from my passions? That is certainly what has happened! Oh, not to worry though. Mia will rue the very day that she initiated this plot against me. I shall kill her myself and later silence that detestable sibling. Poetic justice that it ends this way! I shall have her thrown from the roof. Oh, no. That is no good for business._ The distracted man nearly collided with the transparent Gift Shop doors. Wrenching the exit open, Oswald disregarded the plastic historical trinkets and twelve dollar magnets. _What punishment is worthy of such treason? I could–Yes!_ Stepping onto the city street, Oswald pulled out his phone.

With a sinister sneer, Oswald sent his reply to Mia, " _Please come as early as you would like."_

* * *

In an assortment of pastel colors, the chalkboard hanging above the bar read: _Early birds catch the worm. Early worms… get eaten. Half price on all tequila drinks from 5 pm to 7 pm._ Erin leaned against the edge of a stool, her eyes soaking in the establishment's dusty, stained glass lighting and polished counter tops. A tall, thin man sporting a Red Sox baseball cap stood beside Erin and silently counted through a stack of one hundred dollar bills. The pub was empty, except for a cross-eyed busboy who diligently mopped the floor. No words were exchanged as Erin's acquaintance thumbed through the currency. The early afternoon sun struggled to peek through the dingy windowpanes at the present transaction.

Drumming her fingers against the bar, Erin glanced at her wristwatch: half passed ten. She sighed heavily and stared at herself in the mirror behind the bar. Only the faintest hint of yellow bruising colored her cheeks and the unsightly scabs were beginning to peel away. _I could be at work, right now. No one can tell that I am worse for the wear._ Throughout her absence, Director Marks had called her a single time to query about the history of a patient. Her astute supervisor neglected to inquire upon her recovery or provide assurance concerning her position at the asylum. _Will I even have a job to go back to at this rate?_ _Imagine. What would I do if I had to spend everyday like this. Aimlessly toiling around the city, fulfilling loose errands, only to return to my apartment to bode over the string of bad luck that follows me around. What good does it all do? I suppose, I could stay here and grab a drink._ The bar, however, was no where near the opening hour. Finished with his tally, the man at her side pulled out a pen, wrote down a cryptic phrase upon a napkin, and slid it toward Erin.

"In two days, you'll receive a message from a secure number with a time and location for the pick up. Share this information with no one. At the rendezvous point, a friend will meet you. Say this phrase to confirm your identity." The man tapped the note on the bar gently, which read: _Cé chroith gaotha bog an eorna._

"I know how the process works." Folding the paper into fourths, Erin tucked it safely away into her hip pocket.

Without another word, the woman pushed away from the counter and swiftly exited the inconspicuous, little Irish Pub on the corner of Twelfth and Main. Walking for over a week had affected her health for the better. Long walks afforded her the time necessary to organize her thoughts and set achievable goals. _When I return to Arkham, I am going to find the funds necessary to continue the rehabilitation program. I will organize my own investigation into Cookie's spike in violent behavior. Ah! And Dr. Strange! I have yet to forget about your ludicrous plan to import those other inmates._ Focusing on the promise of work and traversing away her troubles gave Erin the peace of mind she needed to secure her own mental stability.

At the entrance of every alleyway, however, the muscles in her shoulders clenched with anticipation. There was still a bloodthirsty beast lurking the dingy streets, hunting for susceptible prey. The tale sounded fictitious, even to an honest observer like Erin. A lie about drunken disorderly conduct appeased Mia and comforted the young psychiatrist, but it had enraged Themis beyond measure. Erin sympathized with the latter's irritation. _It was for the best. What more could have been done besides involving the police? I hardly believe the real story myself. Realistically, I doubt an officer like James Gordon would waste his time on such nonsense. Then who might we be stuck with? The mighty Detective Bullock? Ha!_ Despite the levity of her internal conversation, Erin wearily kept her pace light and spry.

A flock of pigeons scattered upwards into the cloudless, blue sky toward the spires of Gotham Cathedral; across the street, a group of nuns proceeded in a similar motion. _So, I can't stay on the streets or go home. What can I do to pass the time until Mia goes to work?_ Although Erin did not harbor a grudge against her closest friend, the space seemed necessary for her sanity. Claustrophobia was becoming a cumbersome impediment. Erin was not, after all, used to the mundane routine of quotidian life. The asylum grounded the young therapist by providing her with a just cause she deemed worthy of pursuit.

Without a career to keep her anchored, Erin feared that she may revert to former patterns. _If I can't get my job back, I may end up in Arkham like the rest of that lot. What if the creature wasn't a creature at all, but a manifestation of a malignant form of boredom?_ A GCPD patrol car slowly coasted passed Erin. The breaks whined in agony as the vehicle drifted into the yellow fire lane, the lights atop the car flickered into a cerise and cobalt rotation. _Fuck. What now?_ Detective Harvey Bullock stepped out of the car and leaned his elbows upon the roof of the car.

"Dr. Collins! I'm happy I finally ran into you." The officer called out pleasantly, though his tone echoed a hint of disdain. _A pleasure, as always. I assumed my acts of avoidance were quite clear._

Erin stood up straight and squared off her shoulders. "Is it customary for you to place your current duties on hold to speak casually with civilians?"

"Funny you should mention that, 'cause you just happen to be one of my _current duties_ today." Harvey replied pointedly. _I am no one's duty, much less yours._ His features softened as he continued, "Where are you going anyway? Don't you have a car?"

"Am I being detained?" Erin folded her arms and tapped her foot impatiently at the superfluous interrogation.

"Sorta." Harvey admitted with a careless shrug. _What game are you playing at Bullock? Just because I have all the time in the world, doesn't give you the right to waste it._

"Then I'm invoking my right to silence." The young therapist stared at the detective with an unwavering frigidity.

"Fantastic!" Harvey sauntered to the opposite side of the patrol car and opened the passenger door for his guest. Bowing like a servant the officer, gestured to the seat inside. "I'll need you to come with me right away. Since you invoked, I can expect that you won't be criticizing me the whole time."

" _Go with you?_ On what grounds? I'm not going anywhere with you!" Erin stated irritably, though froze defensively when Harvey approached her on the sidewalk. The woman took a step back toward the nearest lamppost and clenched her fists defensively. _Don't you dare come a step closer. I'll go down fighting if that is what it comes down to!_ As if Harvey heard her mental threat, he paused at the curb and squinted at the therapist.

"Is it the car or the company?" The officer inquired, though he whispered the question so that only Erin heard. For a moment, she searched her thoughts in an attempt to decrypt the meaning of his statement. _The car? Or the company? Whatever does he– Ah! James! Of course Officer Gordon said something about our outing to his partner. This explains the onslaught of voicemails and phone calls from the envious old goat._

Leaving the question unanswered, Erin studied Harvey harshly, calculating the risk of giving into his demand. "Where do you plan on taking me and for what reason exactly?"

"If you had answered your phone, you'd know I have some important paperwork you need to fill out." Harvey explained lightly. _I wonder if I insulted James too much that day. Now I have to suffer with this buffoon's charade._

"You don't happen to have it with you, do you?" Erin asked, hoping for an easy reprieve from the situation.

"It's all down at the station." Harvey thoughtfully ran his fingers around the brim of his tattered hat, then scratched at the graying facial hair at his chin. Turning her eyes to the sky, Erin grumbled under her breath. _Of course, of all people, it would be me going to a police station. Life just keeps getting better and better._ "Now, hop in so I can give you a lift."

"Can't it wait?" The final attempt at shirking the responsibility was thwarted when Harvey returned to the gaping passenger door. With a flourish and a smirk, he pointed at the coffee stained seat.

"No. We are terminating your assault case and need you sign the final record giving your consent to not press charges... or some lawyer crud like that. The whole thing could've been done ages ago. Unless you plan on pressing charges against the asylum, in which case I can put you in touch with–"

"If I give you my signature,"Erin approached the patrol car and grimaced at the accumulation of candy wrappers on the floor, "will the police finally stop harassing me?"

"Certainly. We won't call or take you out for meals ever again." The officer vowed sarcastically.

Erin narrowed her eyes at him, but slipped into the car without further protest and drew the safety strap across her chest. A peculiar scent of spearmint and sour milk perfumed the vehicle's upholstery. _I imagine James is the one who cleans this car then? And it appears that he hasn't been here for quite some time. Ugh, if only I were back at work. This whole encounter may have been avoided._ Slamming the door, Harvey returned to the driver's seat, neglected to buckle his seat belt, and slowly merged with the oncoming traffic. Empty Styrofoam cups rolled around the passenger's feet like drunken, blind mice on the deck of a ship. Harvey made a sharp u-turn, prompting Erin to clutch the handle above the door for support. _Who taught you drive?_ Cautiously releasing her grip of the bar, Erin crossed her legs and remained sternly incommunicative. _I'm not sure what is worse. Ending up at my apartment or the police station... The police station. Definitely the police station._

"You don't seem like the type to disregard a voicemail." Harvey began after a few minutes of suffocating silence. Erin did not respond, so the officer ventured further into unexplored territory. "You're purposely avoiding _me_ then?" _Obviously, yes. I am not interested in conversing with police officers during my spare time._ "Look, I'm trying here and you're not exactly making it easy for me."

"Easy to do what exactly? What is your end goal?" Erin snapped viciously. _From the moment we've met you have done nothing but blatantly pursue me. I have seen better conduct from randy game hounds._

"To prove to you that I'm not an incompetent officer." Harvey grumbled.

For the first time, Erin felt embarrassed to have judged the officer so harshly. Her instinctual reactions to male behavior were of a defensive quality, used to distance herself from potential relationships. The young woman was aware of the pattern and attempted to curb her sentiments with a select few, namely James or Themis. Despite her efforts, Erin continued to treat the men in her life with subtle cruelty. _Why do I always come across this way? It is my own doing. Even after a week, I have refused to apologize to Themis. Am I that prideful? And what about this man beside me? Why do I lack compassion for him?_ The detective had, after all, defended her during his interrogation of Dr. Strange at the asylum. Erin hated systems of authority–patriarchy included–more than any specific individual. The officer had gone to great lengths to help Mia and herself, yet Erin continued to treat him with disdain. What other detective would come out in the middle of the night, off-duty to ensure her safety? None that Erin knew personally, except perhaps her other newest acquaintance, James.

"I don't think you are incom–" Before Erin finished her white lie, Harvey slammed on his breaks. "What the fuck?!"

"Excuse me. _Official police business_. My second duty for the day just gimped by." Harvey rushed out of the car, as Erin surveyed the bustling intersection. Three, mustard colored school buses waited patiently outside the Museum of Antiquities. _I could have gone to the museum today. Instead, I get a ticket to–_ A body was slammed against the passenger's side window. Crushing the litter under her feet, Erin unbuckled her safety belt for maneuverability and turned around in her seat. _Has Bullock completely lost his mind?!_ The officer wrenched the rear door open and tossed a thin, pale businessman onto the seat. A briefcase, thrown in after him, smacked the man in the head. _Oswald Cobblepot._

"What do you think you are doing!?" Erin shrieked, as Harvey returned to the driver's seat and adjusted his hat.

"I dunno who spit in your cornflakes this morning, Penguin, but you're not going to get frosty with me. What is it with people not returning my calls these days? I mean, I enjoy listening to me!." Harvey ignored Erin and placed his keys in the ignition.

Cheeks blistering, Oswald jostled the handle of the rear door uselessly before leaning forward and gripping the bars that distinguished the passengers from the criminals. His dark hair was ruffled and his knuckles white with ire. "I don't have time for your nonsense, Bullock! Release me this instant!" _Why is Harvey arresting Mia's boss? He isn't handcuffed._

"What is he doing here?" Erin attempted to insert herself again.

"We're gonna take a nice ride downtown and you're gonna answer all of my questions. If you're lucky, I won't take a look through that briefcase." Harvey pointed at the nightclub owner warningly. Annoyed, Oswald shoved the suitcase away from him, glowering between the officer and his guest. Upon recognizing Erin, the nightclub owner let forth a wild laugh.

"Oh! This is rich! What, pray tell, is _she_ doing here?" Oswald sneered covering his face in a wild, maniacal anguish. _Fuck if I really know._ Rage was bubbling beneath Erin's calm exterior; not in reference to the scrawny businessman chuckling away in the backseat, but for the cocky, power hungry officer to her right.

"Mind your manners in the presence of a lady, otherwise I may have to knock some sense into you. Now, hang on a sec." Harvey glanced in the rear view mirror and reversed the car into traffic. A taxi screeched to halt behind the squad car, but the driver did not dare to lay on his horn. "You two know each other?"

"Certainly. She has a distinguishable fondness for rouges. Does Bullock know about you're intimate relationship with Themis? Or do you just invite them all to bed and hope they never find out?" Oswald hissed. _Intimate relationship?!_ Momentarily forgetting her aggression for Harvey, the young woman rounded on Oswald. The nightclub owner withdrew his grasp of the bars and fell back under Erin's fiery glare.

" _Excuse me?_ I am not sleeping with anyone, _thank you_." With Oswald silenced, Erin returned her attention to Harvey. "Is he under arrest?"

"What? No, he isn't under arrest. I just need him for some information." The officer explained casually. "That's how I get my police work done." _I knew you were no good from the moment I met you._

"Damn you and all your cases to hell, Bullock!" Oswald growled and viciously kicked the car door.

"He's a witness then?" Erin demanded, but when Harvey shook his head, she grabbed the steering wheel. The blood in the officer's face drained, as he attempted to lightly push her away.

"Are you crazy?!" Harvey exclaimed. "Get your hands off the wheel!"

"You can't take him against his will, that's an obscene abuse of your authority! Now, pull this car over immediately and release him." The therapist dodged his hands and shifted the car into neutral.

"Whose side are you on?" Harvey raised an eyebrow at her, wrestling the wheel from her grip as the car swerved lanes. _The rights of every man are diminished when the rights of one man are threatened! I'll not bare silent witness to this injustice._

"You will hear from my lawyer." Adding fuel to the mayhem, Oswald stuck his umbrella through the bars and swiped Harvey's head, knocking off his hat.

"Don't be stupid. You don't have any lawyers, just a few thugs and busboys." Harvey flung Erin off, slapped the vehicle back into drive, and grabbed the flailing umbrella with his free hand. The instrument was wrenched forward awkwardly and fell at Erin's shuffling feet.

"I'm warning you. Pull this car over at once." Erin hissed the demand through clenched teeth as Oswald continued to jostle the locked door to his left.

Losing his patience, Harvey pulled a pistol from the holster at his side, waved it around the car menacingly, then shot the floor twice. Ears ringing, Erin retreated to the farthest reaches of her seat. _Discharging firearms in a moving car! Brilliant. I'm in the car with a raving lunatic._ In the rear, Oswald cowered behind his briefcase and made no additional objection to his capture.

"I don't want to hear another peep out of either of you. So help me God, I'll riddle the car with bullets and drive it off the Memorial Bridge!" Harvey shouted over the tinnitus pounding against his ear drums.

Erin folded her arms and watched Oswald from the passenger side mirror, choosing to avert her attention anywhere except toward the seething detective. Similarly, the captive in the back fell silent, hugged his briefcase, and ardently stared out the window. _Let's just get this over with._ After twenty minutes of city traffic, the convoy pulled into the parking lot of the precinct. Harvey quietly exited the car, opened the backseat, and wrenched Oswald from the car by his teal necktie. With a firm fist, the officer pounded on the roof, signaling for Erin to follow his ascent. Securing his captive by the arm and the collar of his suit, Harvey dragged Oswald up the steps. Complying with the unspoken command, Erin stepped out of the patrol car and climbed the cracked steps to the soot-stained station. _It is every bit as detestable as I had imagined._

"My umbrella." Oswald reminded him with air of strained civility.

"You'll get it back. No worries. I checked the forecast for your cell. Overcast, but no _participation_." Harvey snorted, though offered no humorous remarks to his female companion.

Upon entering, Erin held her breath for fear of insulting the wrong person. A lion cub wandering into a den of sleeping wolves had a better chance at survival. The station's central atrium had high ceilings with massive, multi-paned windows, which allowed rays of sunshine to pool onto the marbled floor. Police officers filtered in and out of the central room, while others busied themselves with answering telephones or interviewing witnesses. At the side of the main room was a small holding cell, where four sour faced criminals already resided, waiting for further notice about their sentencing. Another officer unlocked the pen and Harvey calmly ushered Oswald into the enclosure. "You can wait here, while I handle Collins."

"I have extremely important business to attend to, Bullock. I cannot afford to wait around for your flirtations." Oswald pressed his face to the bars and glared at him, then shot a disgusted glance at Erin.

 _I can't afford to wait around for his flirtations either. If we had it my way, you'd already be off committing whatever sketchy business you had planned for the day. As much as I dislike Cobblepot, their mistreatment of him is completely inexcusable. I was right not to trust the police here, or anywhere for that matter. Keep your mouth shut though. You've swore off that life and have done enough damage today. There isn't any need to attract anymore unwarranted attention._

"Next time answer my calls and we can set an appointment by your schedule." Harvey snapped back, and gestured for Erin to accompany him to his desk.

As Erin followed the detective, she heard Oswald whisper, "It is not those who can inflict the most, but those who can endure the most who will conquer." The young woman glanced over her shoulder at him, her mouth dry for the words that had once been so familiar to her. The nightclub manager sulked in the cell, his eyes locked on Erin. _Nach bhfuil se siud ar feidir leo gortaitear an chuid is mo ach iad siud ar feidir leo a mairfidh an chuid is mo a bheidh ag reim. How could he know that? He can't possibly understand what those words mean to me… Can he?_

The detective pulled a chair out for Erin, and although she hesitated, the therapist eventually took the seat. Harvey took off his hat, placed it on the desk, and placed a pair of reading glasses on his face. Sitting in his chair, he reached into his drawer to retrieve the coveted case file. After a moment of silence, Harvey passed the document to the woman across from him and used a pen to indicate the points of interest.

"I'll need you to initial here. Sign and date this line at the bottom. Do the same on page six and the final sheet." Harvey leaned back in his chair, as Erin proceeded to read the entirety of the document. _It was a coincidence. Cobblepot doesn't know anything about me. If he did, he certainly wouldn't have the tenacity to speak to me that way._ "Are you going to read the whole thing?"

"Yes. Why not? Are you going to knock some sense into me?" Erin muttered, bitterly signing her name on the first page.

"Because that takes a lot of extra time, which is why I already highlighted where I need you to sign." Harvey retorted sharply.

"Why don't you try knocking some sense into me then? Maybe, I'll move faster."

Annoyed by her consistent hostility, Harvey rolled his steel-gray eyes. "No skin off my nose. You're prettier to look at than Cobblepot, even if you have a permanent frown."

Refusing to give into the bait, Erin bit her tongue and continued to read the document. The detective pulled out another file and organized the contents. Undoubtedly, Harvey was preparing for his conversation with Oswald. _I've been so inconvenienced, that I'd be damned if you are going to rush me through this now–_ Harvey slid a drawing to the edge of his desk to move it out of his way. Without thinking, Erin reached out and snatched up the article. An anthropomorphic monster, with a humped back and reptilian tail, crouched upon two scaly legs. Piercing red eyes with slits for pupils prompted the hair on the back of Erin's neck to stand on end. _The creature._ At that moment, Harvey and Oswald did not matter. The therapist had forgotten entirely about her stagnant career, her uncomfortable position within the precinct, and the injustices of the world.

"What is–what is this?" Erin whispered, her aggression toward Harvey momentarily dissolving into apprehension. _Could it be?_ A drawing was hardly proof of the creature's existence, but its unexpected appearance on the officer's desk was surely not a coincidence.

"That? It is a chupachaga–well, something along those lines anyway." Harvey explained unenthusiastically. "It is load of hokum. We are working on a case that may have some basis in myth." With annoyance, Harvey plucked the picture from her trembling fingers. "But that doesn't concern you. Focus on your own paperwork."

Falling silent again, Erin lowered her hands to her lap and inconspicuously glanced at the other photographs peeking out from the manilla file. A bloated corpse sprawled on a bed of grass. Hyenas shredding into a wildebeest. Dobermans and rottweilers crammed into kennels. _The beast I saw was certainly not a dog, but it definitely may have killed the man in that photo._ Harvey located the record he was searching for, removed it, and returned the report to the drawer. Distractedly, Erin traced her index finger across the words in her own document. _I was wrong to dismiss it. In fact, I think I may owe Themis an apology._ The young woman considered recounting her experience to Harvey, but she caught sight of his wandering eyes and grimaced with agitation. _I'd rather kill the thing myself then involve him a second longer in my affairs._ Dating the final page, Erin chucked the pen and papers at him.

"May I go?" Erin asked sweetly, though she had already drawn herself up with every intention of departing.

"I can arrange a ride for you." Harvey offered genuinely.

"Don't bother. I'd rather risk public transportation." Erin left Harvey sitting at his desk and wound her way through the rows of desks toward the column framed entrance.

A pair of officers hauled the second prisoner from the holding cell toward the unoccupied homicide detective. The nightclub manager resisted their malicious jeers and taunts with a ferocious indignation, demanding all the while for his immediate release.

* * *

Despite the petite size of the device's speakers, the portable television projected the impassioned voices coming from the daytime drama with a pristine clarity. The picture on the dirty screen, however, jumped erratically. Butch delivered a hefty smack to the top of the console in an attempt to fix the technological problem. Angelo, the broad shouldered man who occasionally worked security at the nightclub, grumbled inaudibly next to the imitative technician. The guard tapped his foot repeatedly before pushing Butch out of the way and adjusting a dial on the side of the television for himself. Four identical, wide eyed men sputtered their statements of innocence in front a jury of forty-eight peers. Startled by a lawyer's explosive response, Mia paused cautiously in the entrance hall of the nightclub. _What is going on? Oh, Jesus Christ, they have the television out again._ Closing the door behind her, Mia tiptoed closer to eavesdrop on the usual, lighthearted argument forming between Angelo and Butch.

"Guilty. It's a done deal. Do they have capital punishment in New York? If they do, he would get the chair for sure!" Butch's boisterous claim drowned out the defense attorney's line of questioning.

"There ain't no death penalty in New York. My cousin lucked out a few years back when they changed that, but it don't matter. Look! The guy has millions of dollars, they ain't gonna send him to the pen." Angelo snorted indigently. Mia squinted at the portable television on the table in front of them. _Ha! They placed bets on this, didn't they? I might be super early, but surely there is something productive they could be doing!_

"He already confessed to killing the guy." Butch scoffed. "Case closed!"

"In self-defense! What if I came at you with a gun, eh? You'd wrestle it from me, and shoot me if you got the chance." Angelo retorted tersely. _Oh, boy. I should break this up._

"Right. So, you're saying it's plausible for me to _accidentally_ kill you, then feeling all scared or whatever, hack you up into little bits and toss you in the fucking bay? I'd be sent to Arkham where I'd never see the light of day again." Butch paused, as if this logic held a degree of credence. Shaking his head, the assistant manager tapped the glass screen. "This jury isn't buying it. Scared of the police, so it's okay to hack up your friend? My ass."

"He'll probably be acquitted." Mia interrupted, hoping to scare Butch into flinching with her sudden appearance. The brawny man merely leaned his head back to glance up at her, as if he knew of her proximity the whole time. _Dammit! I will never get him._

"Not you too! Do either of you watch daytime programs? The bad guy never wins." Butch straightened in his seat and pulled a chair out from the table for Mia to join the pointless debate.

The small act of kindness gave the young woman a slight emotional boost. For nearly a week, Erin had avoided interactions with her: their morning coffee council was canceled, most phone calls were sent directly to the voicemail bin, and even the Professor began to ostracize the loft's guest by ignoring her coaxes. For as often as Mia tried to apologize, the persistence had only pushed her friend further away. Making contact with Themis was another obstacle Mia had yet to overcome. The woman had to make amends with him, but her brother was an unpleasant winner in regards to social matters. Putting the task off as long as possible was her easiest strategy. Without her friend or brother, the young woman felt relatively isolated from the world. For three nights, Mia slept at her father's house; she was sure Erin had not noticed her absence. _I'll give Erin her time and things will go back to normal once she gets her job back. In the meanwhile, it's nice to have people at work I can chat with about… murderers. It could be worse. They aren't talking about pornography. Not today anyways. I wonder if they realize that this episode was based off a real case._

"The evidence is worthless. His defense lawyer is wiping the floor with the prosecution." Angelo continued, politely nodding toward the new addition to their group. "And where are the witnesses? They ain't got a single one!"

"I bet he hacked them up too! He killed his wife years ago, now he's gone and offed his neighbor. If I were on the jury, we'd have the verdict before lunch!" Butch pulled a handful of ginger candies from inside his jacket and offered a piece to Mia, who politely declined.

"Angelo is right, Butch." Mia explained and Angelo puffed up victoriously. "The defendant will probably be acquitted on the grounds of self-defense and lack of evidence. The millionaire fact helps too, I'd say."

"What do you know? You only just got here." Butch rolled his gray eyes dramatically, popping a piece of candy in his mouth.

"Robert Durst." Mia stated with a shrug. The two men stared at her blankly, so she waved her hand in dismissal. "Durst was taken to trial for the murder of his neighbor, who he killed while he was already fleeing the law. Basically–Butch, if it's too spicy just spit it out for fucks sake–basically, it is the same ordeal as your show. Rich guy hacks dead guy to pieces, then tries to escape in a wig and dress. When you get a chance, you should read up on it. Truth is stranger than fiction after all."

"And he was acquitted?" Butch asked skeptically, his eyes watering. He swallowed the piece of candy and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"Mhm." Mia nodded, then scanned the room for a moment. _Where is everyone? I can't possibly be that early._ "Isn't Stuart around by now? I told him that I'd come to help him prep before we opened for the night."

"Didn't you get the memo?" Butch struck the television once more, in an attempt to steady the moving picture and increasing static. His companion let out a heavy sigh, while Mia shook her head. "Boss told everyone to show up two hours late today. Said he needs some extra time to prepare–or whatever–so we get to just hang out for a bit. Score, right?"

" _Prepare_? For what?" Mia asked dumfounded. _Why would he say I could come early then? Ah, maybe he was trying to be nice... Or perhaps he wanted to waste my time? I really can't keep up with his reactions anymore. Is he or isn't he upset with me?_ Mia had larger concerns than decoding Oswald's behavior. If the club opened late, customers may spurn the inconvenience and never return. Consistency was necessary for luring the man who last talked to her sister out of hiding. "That's not a good practice for business. What could be so important?"

"You know as much as I do, doll face." Butch sighed and smiled at her. "Why do you seem so upset? Were you preforming tonight?"

"Nah, just serving. Oswald is full of surprises though, so who really knows? Maybe I should talk to him. Is he around?" Mia asked thoughtfully.

"He hasn't returned from his morning business. He called and gave me permission to let some people into his office earlier, but the conversation was brief–"

"Shh! Shhh! Shut up now! The jury is gonna to read the verdict!" Angelo piped up and eagerly jolted his chair across the floor to listen. The foreman of the jury stood and announced the judgment from a sheet of paper: _Not Guilty._ The defendant was thereby acquitted, causing Butch to groan out a slew of profanity.

"Our legal system is such a load of crock." Butch pulled a twenty from his wallet, crumpled the bill fiercely, and chucked it at Angelo's grinning face.

 _Twenty dollars! Why don't I ever place bets with Butch?_ Mia stifled a laugh at the competitors, who had taken to exchanging obscene hand gestures. The front door slammed open, prompting the three employees to regain their workplace composure. Oswald, dark hair askew and patches of red on his face, entered the building in a rage. Frazzled and irritable, the spectators remained motionless with the hope of going unnoticed. Inconspicuously, Angelo turned off the television, silencing a commercial about an antipsychotic prescription. Muttering to himself, the nightclub manager flung a briefcase at the bar; several bottles of expensive vodka toppled over and shattered on the floor. _Oh, no… This isn't good. What set him off now?_ Mia slid down in her chair a bit, casually hiding behind Butch. The attempt to conceal herself, however, failed; as Oswald tossed his umbrella on the counter and approached his familiars, he immediately stopped in his tracks when his cold eyes connected with Mia's unblinking stare. _Crap!_ _Well, now we get to see if he's really mad at me or only kinda mad at me._ Slowly, the scowl was replaced by a brittle smile.

"Mia!" Oswald ignored the two men at her side, though neither complained about the fact. "My sincerest apologies. Anger bested me just now, and I hope you can forgive the outburst."

"No worries." Mia wrung her hands in confusion. Butch and Angelo gave the pair privacy by casting their observations toward the empty stage. Uncharacteristically, Oswald pulled a chair over to their table. He straddled the seat, resting his head on the arms he neatly folded across the back of the chair. His pupils were dilated, but his breathing rhythmically controlled. Slightly embarrassed by the attention, Mia forced herself to fill the awkward calm with superfluous discussion. "I, I heard that we are getting a late start today. I hope it was alright that I still came early."

"Of course. It is no problem at all." Oswald flashed the top row of his porcelain white teeth. "After all, you are the best employee I have!" In unison, Butch and Angelo shot befuddled expressions at one another. "And how are you feeling today?" _Why is he acting so odd? He's barely talked to me since my brother caused his scene, and now he's asking about my emotional state?_

"I'm fine. _How are you feeling today?_ " Mia parroted.

"Fantastic. I have no reason not to be!" Oswald picked his head up, quickly jumped from the chair, and raised his palms to the ceiling. "I have a booming business! Loyal employees! And a friend who is always so eager to help me." _Cocaine. It must be cocaine._ Despite the intensity and absurdity of the manager's movements, Mia was relatively pleased to see Oswald in a lively mood. _At least he isn't brooding… I never liked that quality about him. His quirky smile was always so much more inviting._

"I'm glad to see you're so, um, happy." Mia offered a sincere smile, which spurred the manager into a frenzy of unnecessary chuckles. Running a hand through his messy hair, Oswald attempted to calm his hysteria.

"You have no idea! Today has been a whirlwind of catastrophe, Mia. Seeing you arrive early–true to your word as always– has bolstered my spirits. Now, I was wondering, might I have a word with you in my office? I should love to get your feedback on a few articles of significance. Chatting like old times, what do you say?" Oswald requested. _Like old times! I never thought I would hear those words from you. How can I say no? I can use this opportunity to talk to him about steering the nightclub in a more prosperous direction._

"Sure!" Mia volunteered enthusiastically, but Butch cleared his throat and pointed toward the kitchen.

"I thought you were going to get started early by helping Stu–" Butch closed his mouth when Oswald's neck snapped in his direction.

"How rude of me! Butch, would you be so kind as to join us? This conversation may benefit you as well." The nightclub manager waited for his apprehensive assistant to stand before addressing Angelo. "Attend to that mess behind the bar… _please_."

Reclaiming his umbrella from the counter, Oswald jovially led the way to his office. The lock opened for his key without resistance and the two employees entered the darkened workspace. Tensely obedient and helpful, Butch flipped the light switch; the florescent bulbs flickered into life with an electric buzz. In the farthest corner of the room was a birdcage, with a soft, brown fowl in residence. The avian raised its neck up and blinked at the false daylight, before nestling back into the safety of the cage's shrouded nook.

"You bought a bird?" Mia commented curiously. _It's absolutely beautiful. I can't say I am surprised that Oswald got a pet bird. He used to enjoy them almost as much as I do._

"That is actually what I wanted to speak to you about. Go ahead, take a seat." The nightclub manager closed the office door with a snap, and turned on his heel to address his guests.

" _A bird?_ " Butch and Mia clarified in unexpected accord. Settling down in the chair at the front of Oswald's desk, the young woman glanced at Butch for reassurance. The assistant leaned against the wall with his arms in his pockets, but his tense features only added to her confusion.

"It is not just any bird though! It is a lyrebird. Do you happen to know anything about lyrebirds, Mia?" The young woman shook her head and folded her hands neatly on her lap, while Oswald continued in a formal fashion. _I thought we'd talk about business, but… He did say it would be like old times._ "They are quite extraordinary creatures of song and dance. An Australian species aptly named after the instrument used by bards and muses." Lifting the latch on the cage, Oswald opened the compartment door and peered at the snoozing poet incarnate. "When I first laid eyes on it, my thoughts naturally drifted to you." A flush crossed the woman's cheeks. _Is he... flirting with me? No, don't read into it. He's just not very good at–well, I–he's just acting strangely that's all._ "The lyrebird is unassuming, but quite talented. It reminds me so much of you." _Maybe Oswald actually did find some cocaine… I was only kidding before, but something definitely isn't right._ Even Butch, tensely perched upon the outskirts of the conversation, wrinkled his forehead in confusion. "So, I procured the little bird for you. A token of apology for the way I have been acting since we reconnected."

"That's... very thoughtful of you." Mia cocked her head slightly to the left. _See, you are worried for nothing. He's just not very good at apologizing!_

From pigeons to swallows, meadowlarks to toucans, Mia had always retained a fondness for feathered animals. Birds had all the traits she admired: they sang, calculated, and soared above the clouds. Countless hours were spent lying atop buildings or in trees observing their flight and preening patterns. In that moment, however, Mia focused entirely on Oswald. His kindness was coarse and dry, as if at any moment the man would disintegrate into an explosion of dust. Their childhood was founded on the two giving gifts to each other, but it was the first time Oswald had ever actually delivered the present in person. The nightclub manager reached into the cage, cupped the passive bird in his hands, and extracted the animal from the prison. _Oh, don't disturb it for heaven's sake!_

"There is another anecdote about the lyrebird, I want to share with you." Oswald leaned down and touched the tip of his nose to the bird's soft head. Complaisant, the animal rested comfortably in the man's hands. "They are the best little liars in the world."

"W-what?" Mia sputtered, not fully understanding his statement.

Gripping the bird by the neck, Oswald twisted the creature's right wing sharply backward. The peaceful lyrebird reflexively succumbed to a frenzy of squawks and coos, struggling to free itself from the hands of its cruel torturer. Several tail feathers fell loose and drifted to the ground, landing atop the manager's polished shoes. Instinctively, Mia launched from her chair, skating over the desk, to snatch the wailing avian away from the sadistic man. Expecting her reaction, Oswald easily side-stepped her advance, his wild blue eyes taunting his real victim.

"No! No! Stop it! What are you doing!?" Mia screamed. _Stop! Stop! Don't hurt it!_

"They sing songs that are not their own. They _pretend_ to be things that they are not!" Oswald squeezed the creature between his slender fingers; his pupils locked on Mia who rushed at him again to rescue the lyrebird. The animal was no longer a majestic exotic, but a flailing chicken crowing desperately for another tomorrow. Kicking his office chair in front of her, Oswald thwarted her second attempt at retrieval.

"Why are you doing this?" Tears streamed down Mia's face and her heart pounded in fear that Oswald may actually kill the lyrebird out of whatever spite he held for her. This time though, as the musician swiped for the crumpling victim, Oswald let the bird flap helplessly to the floor and grabbed a fistful of Mia's hair. Without time to react, her temporal lobe flew downward and hit the desk. Clumsily cooing, the lyrebird sought shelter underneath the desk. The office spun into a blur of sound and color, as the disoriented woman tried to regain an understanding of her situation. _What? Fucking– Who? What's happening? Is the bird okay? Fuck!_

From the opposite corner, Mia heard Butch scuffle defensively toward the assault. To help her or Oswald, she was not entirely certain. Pain radiated across her scalp and reflexively, Mia reached up to pull her attacker's arms away. _You're hurting me!,_ she wanted to shout. The protestations, however important they were to her safety, failed to form on her tongue.

"Sit down, Butch. You are a fool, same as I."

"Oswald, take it easy now. Let's talk this out." Butch replied calmly. _Thank God, I have someone on my side._ Her single hope vanished as quickly as it had appeared when Mia felt the sharp edge of a knife press to her throat.

"We _are_ talking about it! Let's talk about it, Mia." Oswald growled. "The lie is finally out in the open. Who sent you and why?"

"No one sent me! Get off!" Mia tried to reach for the handle of the knife, but the manager threateningly pushed it deeper into her skin.

 _I'll be damned if I go down without a fight._ Determined to survive, the woman stomped her foot on his and awkwardly reached around to wrestle his hand away from its grasp on her hair. With a grunt, Oswald bit his lower lip and repositioned himself behind her. The man released her hair, but pinned her flailing arms behind her back. His elbow dug into her spine and he hurriedly returned the knife to her jugular. _That's it. I am going to die. Without saying I am sorry to Erin and Themis! Without finding Delilah! Oh, Pops! I'm sorry!_

"For crying out loud! If you want a confession out of her, give her some air to breathe under that knife." Butch suggested hastily.

"Are you an acolyte? Seeking revenge for Fish or Maroni? Did Falcone send you? Tell me!" Oswald demanded.

"I don't know who any of those people are!" Tears rolled down her face and each breath was a painful reminder of the knife at her neck. "Please, just let me go." The lyrebird beneath the desk whimpered out a pathetic noise.

"You never worked at the museum, but you led me to believe you did. Why? You never had any problem with working every night. What were you looking for? Always chummy with the others. Who are you feeding information to?" Oswald sneered at Butch, implying that he played directly into her act. _You paranoid, egotistical son of a bitch. Because it always has to be about you doesn't it?_ "You played me and I demand to know why!"

The confession was tinged with anger and sorrow, "I needed the job to find my sister! _I_ tricked you! J-Just me! There is no conspiracy. I tricked you, because I had to have access to the club. The man who took her will come back here, and when he does, I'll be ready."

"What?" Oswald was not expecting the answer he received, and a shadow of doubt passed over his vision. The blade retracted slightly, but his grip remained firm. "More lies."

"Let the girl talk." Butch tried again to intervene on her behalf, but Oswald lifted the knife and pointed it at the loyal assistant.

"It was _your_ prodding that allowed her to get under my skin in the first place. You! You blinded my perspective." Oswald snapped, but allowed the arm holding the blade to fall to his side.

"Delilah! You must remember, Delilah." Mia elaborated, "She went m-missing from this nightclub a few years ago. Before you even owned the p-place! I got some information from Detective Harvey Bullock at the GCPD–and I'm sure I can find the man who took her! I just needed the opportunity to work here. It's the truth. I swear." At the mention of Detective Bullock, the manager's clasp on her wrist tightened, but he remained in a contemplative stupor.

For an uncertain moment, Oswald studied the woman shaking under his hands. The manager released her numb arm, and withdrew his elbow. "If this is true, why not tell me during your audition?" _Tell you!? Tell you? The selfish, ill tempered narcissist?_

"Would you have helped me?" Mia wiped her tears away, but did not want to rekindle his anger with hasty movements. Rather, the woman stayed bent over the desk until Oswald moved to sit down in his office chair.

"Probably not." The manager replied thoughtfully. _So you believe me then? God. I never thought he'd become violent with me. Themis and Erin were right to worry._ A new smile crept along Oswald's face, causing the woman's stomach to cringe with anxiety. _What now?_ "I hope you understand my position, Mia. I won't be lied to, not now or ever, so you'll have to suffer a punishment."

"Are you going to kill me?" Mia barely whispered, her shoulders shaking from the adrenaline. The woman drew herself up to face him, her head and forearms aching with a dull pain.

"No. You'll live to see tomorrow." Amused, Oswald's smirk broadened and he cast his palms to the ceiling. "You are, however, fired." An overwhelming feeling of exultation rushed over Mia. Despite all the risks and the potential for bodily harm, Oswald bypassed the idea of drowning her in the river or burying her in a barrel of cement. "That said," he continued, "I never want to see your face here again. Missing sister or not." The reality of the penalty had finally set in; without access to the nightclub Mia would lose her chance to find Delilah. _Oh, no! He… There is–You can't stop me from finding my sister!_

"No, no, no! Oswald, you don't understand–"

"It is _Mr. Cobblepot_ , if you don't mind. And, frankly, I do not care enough to understand. You are a reckless, foolish girl and I will not stand for the nonsense any longer. Butch, please escort Miss Mimidae off the premises." Contented with his decision, Oswald traced his index finger along the edge of the blade thoughtfully. Butch took a step toward Mia, but she boldly approached the manager's desk.

"Please! I need this job." Mia begged. "I won't cause any more trouble. You'll hardly notice that I am here." The young woman lowered herself to meet his direct gaze, but found his eyes lacking kindness and sympathy. Rather, Oswald forcefully stabbed the point of his knife into the surface of his desk, causing Mia to flinch away.

"Do not insult my intelligence! For as long as I have known you, you have never once been discreet." His smirk wavered, as though he was reconsidering his judgment. From underneath the desk, the lyrebird mimicked the sound of a slamming door. Narrowing his eyes, Oswald motioned to Butch, who attempted for a second time to remove Mia from the office. _I won't go. Go ahead and kill me now, but I won't give up because you think you can stand in my way!_

"C'mon. Don't make this harder than it needs to be–"

"I'll pay to get in every night until I can find her! You can't stop a patron." Mia vowed, wrenching her arm free from Butch's grasp.

"Even if you managed to pay the entrance fee _every_ night– a fact I highly doubt given your set allowance and tendency to couch surf– you will find yourself barred at the entrance." Oswald nodded at Butch, indicating that the doorman was to enact the policy immediately. "As of now, you are officially banned from the premises. If I find you anywhere in the vicinity, I will have you arrested for trespassing." _Trespassing! You can't–you wouldn't!_

Unable to dodge Butch for a third time, Mia attempted one last plea. "Please! This is the only connection I have to my sister. I could lose her forever!" Her cries fell on deaf ears, as Oswald made no effort to rescind his orders. Leading her by the shoulders, Butch gingerly dragged Mia through the club toward exile. Angelo stood speechless by the bar and cast his eyes to the floor. The security guard would not spare a single glance for the young musician's plight. Angelo may not have known the reason for her sudden dismissal, but he was wise enough not to pry into Oswald's judgments.

"Butch please! Talk some sense into him!" Mia implored the heavy set man as they crossed the threshold. _Give me a few more minutes alone with him. I am sure I could convince him._ Her former ally shook his heavy head and placed her on the sidewalk, obstructing her view into the nightclub.

"I've defended you more often than you know, Mia. Quite honestly, I can't believe you never trusted me enough to tell me about your intentions. Either way, I think it is for the best if you just stay away from Cobblepot and the club." Butch explained solemnly. Tears springing to her eyes, Mia attempted once more to dart around the bouncer to get inside, but he merely picked her up by the waist and set her down in front of him. "Get on now, before I have to call the cops."

"Please." Mia whispered, but this time Butch did not answer. _This isn't happening. We are opening in a few hours and that man… I know he will show up soon. Oh Delilah! I am so sorry._ Butch stood at the door, arms folded, until the disheartened woman proceeded to make her way down the street. A light drizzle sprinkled from the sky, disguising the moisture on her eyelashes as raindrops.

* * *

Author's Note: Hi everyone! I hope you enjoyed the newest installment of Gotham. It took a long time, I know. Allow me to explain. After receiving my degree back in May, I joined the Peace Corps and spent the following months preparing for the next two years of my life. Well, I have been shipped out. Currently, I am living in the South Pacific (for about 3 1/2 months now). There is a plus side and a down side to this major life change: I have so much more time to write, but often lack the proper internet connection to post regularly. That said, I promise there will be updates (I am hoping every other month). Thank you for reading, and I am so sorry for the inconvenience (past, present, and future)! I regret nothing though. I am proud to be serving my country and learning about my host country's culture. Yours truly, Chansalar


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